Mississippi Bayou Belle
by MaverickLover2
Summary: It was supposed to be a gambler's paradise. Instead it turned into a killer's playground, with the Maverick brothers as the suspects
1. Chapter 1 Burned Steak and Aces

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 1 – Burned Steak and Aces

Yes indeed, she was grand. A brand new riverboat, the finest in her class, built for opulence and luxury and plenty of gambling. Murder was not supposed to be on the menu for the maiden voyage. But with the Maverick brothers on board, who knew what was liable to happen?

This was supposed to be a pleasurable working cruise. Something to take their minds off the troubles that had befallen them of late; something different and exciting, yet fun and familiar. The brothers hadn't been on a riverboat together since – well since the last time they went upriver, too long ago to remember. Bart had seen an article about the first trip to New Orleans while he was recuperating from a painful beating. The alternative was an extended visit with their father and uncle in Little Bend, Texas. The prospect of the Belle's first voyage was much more intriguing.

Through his friend Anderson Garrett Bart had gotten them an invitation to make the trip. By the time departure was near there were enough poker winnings to upgrade their passage to what Bret jokingly called the 'high end of the boat.' It was going to be enjoyable, for a change, to travel in first class rather than the way they'd traveled many times before.

They made their way from Denver as soon as Bart was well enough to travel, after the stitches were removed and there was no continued fear of infection. It was a nice change, to not be in a hurry to get somewhere, and they took full advantage of their trip across Missouri to fatten their poke. By the time they reached St. Louis it appeared there would be no money worries for a while.

The last night in port they went to dinner at the 'Missouri Cattlemen's Steakhouse' and indulged in the biggest steak on the menu. That is, Bret indulged in the biggest steak on the menu. When the waitress brought their meals out Bart could only shake his head in wonder.

"How can you eat that much food?" he asked his brother. "And it's not even cooked!"

Bret preferred his meat on the rare side; Bart was a well-done man.

"I come from Texas, son. That's the way we eat."

Bart almost laughed out loud. "I was born there, too. Remember? I can't eat an entire steer in one sitting."

Bret paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. "Not my fault I got Pappy's appetite and you got Momma's."

That did elicit a laugh from Maverick, the younger. "Just be careful you don't get bigger than Pappy."

Bret poked at his brother with the fork. "You could sure stand some of that, Brother Bart. You're almost too thin to be a Maverick."

"Yeah, well, remember why," Bart reminded him. In the last three years one thing after another had plagued Bart's physical being and state of mind. He had no interest in food when he was worried or anxious, which he'd been during most of that period. And when he wasn't one of those two, he was injured physically. So Bret's remark was not entirely welcome.

"No more excuses," Bret shot back at him. "There's nothing wrong now. Eat." Brothers certainly knew how to be a pain sometimes, even when they were as close as the Mavericks were. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Bret spoke up again. "Are you all packed? The Belle leaves at eight a.m., you know."

"Yes, Pappy, I know. I'm more packed than you are. And who schedules a brand new boat like the Belle for that early, anyway?"

"Must be somebody in a hurry to lose their money," Bret answered. "You would think with all the important people on this trip they would have scheduled her at a decent hour, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, they did," Bart answered between bites. "She's not leaving at eight a.m., she's loading at eight a.m."

"How do you know that?"

"Read the fine print on the ticket."

Bret picked up a roll and threw it at his brother. "Nobody likes a smartass, Brother Bart."

"True." There was a mischievous gleam in Bart's eyes. "Is that why you can't keep a lady friend for any length of time?"

The older Maverick chose to ignore the last question. Instead he patted his stomach. "Well, I'm full."

Bart looked at his brother's plate, which was empty except for a bone. "Bone too hard to chew?" he asked.

"Yes. What about dessert?"

"No room," was the reply.

"No room? You only ate half your steak!"

"I'd offer it to you, but it's too dead to suit your taste."

"Maybe you'd eat more if you didn't have everything burned." At least as far as Bret was concerned, it was burned.

"I'm still done. I'm heading back to the hotel; I'd like to be on time tomorrow."

"On time for the loading or on time for the leaving?"

"Does it matter? As long as we're both on the Belle when she leaves port."

"Guess not. Whose turn is it?" To pay for dinner, of course.

Bart thought for a minute. "I got breakfast."

"And I got lunch," Bret answered.

"Yeah, my lunch consisted of coffee and coffee," came the word from Bart.

"Not my fault. Dinner's on you, Brother Bart. Besides, you're better off financially than I am."

"I don't think so, big brother. I think we're just about even."

Bret couldn't argue with that. "Alright, 50-50?"

"Cut cards for it?" Bart asked, then hastily added, "With my deck?"

"Don't trust me?"

"Not a bit." That brought laughter from both of them. They cut the cards to see who paid for dinner – Bart drew a king, Bret an ace. "Even with my own deck," Bart complained.

2


	2. Chapter 2 A Scream is Just a Scream

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 2 – A Scream is Just a Scream

As expected, there was a big ceremony welcoming everyone on board the Mississippi Bayou Belle on her maiden voyage down the river she was named for, all the way to New Orleans, Louisiana. She was a good size vessel, over 250 feet long and 50 feet wide, and she was a sternwheeler. She had two massive decks and a third 'below' deck for animals and cargo. And right after the ceremonies were over, loading of passengers began in earnest. There were too many people to even count, and the Maverick brothers were among them. They were anxious to board and find out just what 'first class" passage bought them.

Quite a bit of luxury, compared to what they were used to. They had what the uninformed would call a suite, with a small sitting area and private bedrooms. The walls were all mahogany and the furniture belonged in a fine hotel. Bret had worried at the price of the tickets, even after receiving the invitation for the voyage, but he fully understood once they got a look at their surroundings.

"Well, this is certainly a step up from that little flea-bag room we stayed in on our first trip down river," Bart declared upon opening the door.

"More like two or three steps up," Bret corrected after examining their state room. "Have we died and gone to heaven?"

"Trust me, heaven doesn't look like this," his brother replied. "So this is how the other half lives. Sure could get used to it."

Bret opened the humidor that rested on the sitting room table. Inside were some of the very best cigars. He put three in his coat pocket and lit the fourth. "Yes sir, this will be a fine way to travel."

Bart took his turn with the cigars and sat down. "Mmmhmmm. Just don't get too used to it. This trip won't last forever."

"Depends on what we do in the 'salon'." Bret was nothing if not optimistic.

"Are you implying we could play poker against a Vanderbilt? I don't think there's anyone with that kind of money on board."

"Don't need a Vanderbilt. Just need a few poorer folk that are lousy poker players."

"Let's enjoy it while we've got it," Bart advised.

"Amen, Brother Bart. Amen."

XXXXXXXX

When supper was served Bret was indeed in heaven. Only the best food, and however much he wanted. Even the Mavericks were tempted by the fine wines served with the meal. Afterwards they retired to the top deck to smoke and discuss their plans.

"I'm not inclined to look for a table tonight, Bret. You know how some of these folks are the first night on a new ship. Let 'em get comfortable and settle in some before we take their cash."

"I agree with you, Bart. Too many people restless the first night. They can get their sea legs under them first. Speaking of sea legs, how's your stomach?"

Bart had been shanghaied in San Francisco by a crook and had real trouble with sea sickness at first. He'd gotten used to it since that time. "It's fine. Don't have that trouble anymore."

Bret was about to say something when they heard a woman scream. She sounded truly frightened and not just hysterical, and within seconds she screamed again. Both brothers took off running for the lower deck, where the sound had come from. Next to the railing was a very frightened, very pretty young woman, her whole body shaking as she held on to the railing for dear life. A sandy haired man in a dark coat was desperately trying to pry her hands loose so he could presumably throw her overboard. A crumpled body lay on the deck at her feet. As soon as the assailant saw the two men he turned loose of the young woman and ran for his life. Bret chased after him but lost him when the murderer slipped down onto the bottom deck and disappeared into the storage area. Bart bent over the body and turned it over. An older man, somewhere in his forties, dressed like a well-heeled banker, with his throat cut. As soon as the woman saw the blood she screamed again and Bart rose up and took her in his arms to soothe her.

"It's alright, miss. The man's gone, he can't hurt you." He cradled her head up against his shoulder and rocked her back and forth gently. "Shhh, shhh, it's alright."

Bret came running back to see his brother comforting the girl. He bent over the body and found just what Bart had discovered. Very well-dressed and very dead. He looked up at his brother and muttered softly, "Great, I get the body and he gets the girl."

Almost an hour later they were in the pilothouse explaining everything to the ship's captain. For the third time. "And you were doing nothing but smoking on the upper deck when you heard the screams?"

"That's right, captain. We were talking and smoking." Bret was tired of answering the same question over and over again. He knew which question was coming next.

"And what were you and your brother doing on the upper deck?" The captain was older than the Mavericks but younger than the murder victim. He was a relatively small man, short and slender, but very muscular. His skin was tanned and brown, and he looked like he had been doing this for many years. Bart answered the question this time.

"We'd just come from the dining salon. We were having a smoke on deck. What do you think we were doing up there? We have a state room on the top deck."

"On the top deck?" the captain asked again. "Are you sure?"

Bret had just about had enough for one night. "Are you implying something, captain?"

"Oh no no no, Mr. Maverick. It's just that those rooms are quite expensive."

"And we can't afford them?" Now Bart was fed up, too.

"Gentlemen, I can't afford them."

"We were on the top deck, captain. What else do you want to ask us again?" Bret knew better than to let Bart continue answering questions once he'd reached the point of frustration. That was only one step away from anger and not a good thing.

"You just heard a scream and went running?"

"No, actually, we heard two screams and went running. When we reached the next deck down we found the body, the attacker and the woman."

"And the murderer fled?"

"Yes, and I chased him to the lower deck where I lost him."

"Any idea who the victim is?" the captain persisted.

"Never saw him before," Bret stated for the third time. "Captain, if you want to ask us any more questions, can we do it in the morning? It's been a long day." Bret was worn out from the ordeal and he was sure Bart was too. His brother still wasn't back to full health but he was close.

"Of course," the captain finally conceded. "Good night, gentlemen."

"Good night, captain." They left the pilothouse and went back to their stateroom. Sleep never sounded so good. But neither one of them was in the mood for sleep just yet.

"What just happened?" Bart asked his brother.

"We are 'material witnesses to a murder by party or parties unknown'."

"You sure we weren't being accused of being liars?" the younger Maverick wondered.

"At least," Bret replied. "I think if the captain could have found a way to pin the murder on us he would have been a happy man. Murder solved and all tied up in a neat little bow." They stood in the sitting room for a minute, both trying to decide what to do next. "I give up," Bret finally said. "I'm going to bed. Good-night, Brother Bart."

Bart shook his head as if he still didn't comprehend exactly what had happened, then turned towards his room. "Good-night, Brother Bret. Just can't stay out of trouble, can we?"

"I have the feeling this isn't over," were his brother's last words to him that night.


	3. Chapter 3 Tears and Handkerchiefs

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 3 – Tears and Handkerchiefs

The knocking on the state room door was persistent, like the knocking in his head. Neither would stop, no matter how much he willed them to. "Alright," he yelled, "I'm coming." He grabbed his robe and went for the door. "Yes?" he asked unhappily as he opened it.

Standing there with a distressed look on her face was the young woman from last night. In the daylight Bart observed all the things he'd missed in the dark; pretty, blonde, blue eyed, and well-dressed. Maybe twenty-two or twenty-three at the most. "I'm so sorry to wake you, but I must speak with you." She didn't wait for an invitation, just walked in and didn't seem in the least concerned that she was now in a man's stateroom unescorted.

"Certainly," he answered. He would have added "Come right in" but it was too late for that, she was already in. "Miss - ?"

"Mayhew. Emily Mayhew. Your name is Maverick, correct? Are you Bret or Bart?" She didn't waste any time. And how had she found them? Somebody on board had no problem divulging private information.

"I'm Bart. Bret is my obviously still asleep brother. What's so urgent that it can't wait for breakfast?"

"Mr. Maverick, I think someone wants to kill me."

Not an unusual assumption, considering that she'd probably witnessed the murder last night. "Do you have any reason for that, other than the obvious?"

"I went to breakfast this morning. When I came back my room had been broken into and everything pulled out and turned upside down."

He offered her a seat and then sat down himself. "Could be coincidence. Very bad timing on a thief's part. Why'd you think they were out to murder you?"

She reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a piece of paper, folded in half. As she handed it to him she explained, "Because of this."

Bart took the paper and opened it. _'You're next' _was the only thing written on it. "Reasonable conclusion," was his only comment. "Who knows you're on board?"

"No one here," she answered. "Only my aunt in New Orleans. I'm going to live with her."

Bret's door swung open slowly and the older brother emerged, sleepy-eyed and yawning, which he promptly quit as soon as he saw their visitor. "Hello, have I missed something?"

"Late to the party, as usual," Bart remarked, then stood. "Miss Emily Mayhew, my brother Bret Maverick."

"The lady from last night. How do you do, Miss Mayhew?" Bret turned his attention back to his brother rather slowly, after taking a good look at Emily Mayhew. "What's all this about?"

"Take a look at this," as Bart handed him the threatening note.

"Ominous. You found this where?"

"In my room. After someone broke in and tore it apart." Emily looked like she was about to cry.

"Miss Mayhew, why did you bring this to us? Why not take it to the captain?" The question was from Bart.

"I did," she replied, sounding resigned. "He told me it was nothing, just a random threat."

Bart and Bret exchanged glances, then Bret told her, "Not so casual, I think."

"When I needed help last night, you were the only ones who came. Even the captain didn't seem that concerned. I thought maybe I could hire you to protect me." She looked around the opulence of the room and shook her head. "Now I think I can't afford you."

Bart laughed. "Don't let the room fool you. We're available for a price."

"All I have is one thousand dollars."

Bret didn't give Bart a chance to say anything. Protect a beautiful young girl, which they would have done for free anyway, and make five hundred dollars apiece? "Miss Mayhew, you have just bought yourself two bodyguards." He looked at his brother, who nodded in agreement. "Brother Bart, how fast can you get dressed? I need breakfast, and Miss Mayhew has already had hers."

"Give me ten minutes and some coffee," was the reply. Bart disappeared back into his room. Bret moved over to the other settee and sat across from Emily. "There is one requirement, Miss Mayhew."

"What is that, Mr. Maverick?"

"I'm Bret, he's Bart. Mr. Maverick is our Pappy."

She nodded in agreement. "Fine. Bret, please call me Emily. Miss Mayhew lives in New Orleans. She's my aunt."

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Emily, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

XXXXXXXX

Bart took Emily's arm and steered her towards the dining salon. "Do you mind? I need coffee. How about some tea?"

"Coffee will be fine," she answered. She let Bart take her into the room and pull out a chair for her.

"Two coffees," Bart ordered from the waiter. He removed his hat and sat it on the table. "You said you're gonna live with your aunt in New Orleans?"

Emily nodded before she spoke. "Yes. Aunt Millie is getting older and is tired of living alone. Since she raised me I thought it best to go help her."

He understood that sentiment. The day was coming with Pappy and Uncle Ben . . . . . he shook the thought off and brought his attention back to the young lady before him. "Where were you living before?"

She smiled slightly; she had a charming smile. "In St. Louis. I was a nurse to a family with two little girls."

He winced at the mention of the little girls, thinking about the hallucination he'd had when Donnie Monroe held him prisoner. She saw the reaction and wondered what it meant. Was there more to these two men than met the eye?

"Do you have children?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Not married. Neither is Bret. It doesn't work with our particular profession."

"And what is that Mr. . . . Bart?"

"We're professional gamblers, Emily. Does that bother you?"

"Not at all," she replied. "The people I worked for – Mr. Lewis was a gambler."

He hesitated, then asked the question anyway. "Jerome Lewis?" Lewis was at one time a well-known card sharp – master of the art of deception with the cards. Some time back he'd 'gone straight' – quit the cheating and played honestly, due to his marriage and fatherhood. From what Bart heard it had worked out well – for a short time.

"Yes, Jerome Lewis. Do you know him?"

Bart tempered his answer with understanding. "I know his reputation with the cards."

Unfortunately, Lewis was nowhere near as skilled with honest poker playing as he was with cheating. Whether it was the decrease in income or just pride, the man had recently reverted to his old ways. If he kept it up the two little girls might soon be orphans.

"What does that mean?"

"I've never met him," Bart answered, hoping no further explanation was necessary.

Emily let it drop. "Where do you and Bret live?"

That question elicited a chuckle. "Wherever the cards take us. Currently on the 'Bayou Belle'."

"Oh."

"Are you done?" his last question, as he finished his coffee.

"Yes." She set her empty cup down. "Thank you for the coffee."

"Let's go see this room of yours, shall we?" He stood and pulled out her chair for her, then accepted her arm through his and escorted her out of the salon.

XXXXXXXX

She was right, everything had been pulled apart and turned upside down. They were looking for something, the question is what?

"Any idea what they were after?"

Her expression was puzzled and her head shook 'no.' "Why would someone do this? I don't have anything worth taking."

He disagreed with her. "Yes, you do. Your life. But what they wanted here – who knows?"

She began to pick clothing up from the floor and the furniture, everywhere that it had been tossed or dropped. Bart bent over to help her, judiciously avoiding anything that might prove embarrassing to one or the other of them. In just a few minutes they had order restored to the room; that's when Bart saw the small wooden box still laying on the floor. It had been smashed to bits and the lid ripped off it. "What was in here?" he asked as he showed her the remaining pieces.

"Oh no!" she cried as she took the pieces from his hand. "Not that!" It was evident from the sound of her voice that she was close to tears; whatever it had held once upon a time was important to her.

"Emily. What was in it?"

She looked up at him, eyes bright, shiny and wet. "My . . . my mother's locket. And my father's letters to her before they were married. And his cuff links."

That was not the answer he expected and the 'cuff links' part hit him hard, thinking of the pair he wore from his own mother. "Were they worth much?"

"Not money," tumbled out of her. "To anyone but me." It was finally too much and she put her head in her hands and sobbed. Bart moved closer to her and put his arms around her to comfort her, much as he had last night. She let go and now that she was safe in his arms, cried for long minutes as she clung tightly to him. Embarrassed or distressed or both, she reigned in her sobbing and backed away from him. "Sorry," she mumbled as she attempted to wipe her eyes.

Bart took the handkerchief out of his coat pocket and dried her tears. She gave him a very small smile and mumbled "Thank you." Uh-oh, he knew the look in her eyes and quickly backed away from her.

"Anything of value in the letters?"

"No," she insisted. "Just letters. Those are the only things I had from my parents." She looked like she was about to start crying again and he rushed to change the subject and distract her.

"Have you noticed anything else missing?"

Emily looked around the room, at all the now neatly stacked piles. "Everything else seems to be here."

If these were all her worldly possessions she was definitely poorer than the Mavericks.

"No fancy dresses, pretty gowns, nothing like that?"

"None of that. What did I need it for?"

Funny, he thought all big city women needed clothes like that. Evidently not.

Just about that time there was a knock at the door. He pushed her behind him and pulled out his gun. "Yes?"

"It's Bret. Let me in."

Bart opened the door to her room without lowering the gun. Bret took one look at it and put his hands up. "Don't shoot. I come in peace."

"Yeah. Careful you don't come in pieces," Bart remarked as he holstered his gun. He opened the door wider. "You missed all the work."

"Ah-ha. Just the way I planned it."


	4. Chapter 4 Doc Holliday and the Coffee

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 4 – Doc Holliday and the Coffee Flask

Somebody needed to go pry information out of the captain and it didn't appear to be such a good idea that it be Bart, considering the 'almost' conflict of last night. He elected to stay with Emily while Bret used his powers of persuasion to get the answers that were needed.

Captain Sampson was more agreeable than last night, no doubt because he didn't have a body on his hands or in his pilothouse. "I have some additional questions for you, Mr. Maverick, if you're agreeable to answer them."

"Maybe we can agree to an exchange of information, Captain. There are some things I'd like to ask you, too."

"I'll give you any answers I can."

"Alright. Did you find out who the dead man was?"

The captain shook his head in frustration. "No, that unfortunately, is still a mystery. No one's been reported missing and he had no identification on him. I'm afraid we're still in the dark. Now, just exactly what happened when you and your brother arrived on the lower deck?"

"Like I explained last night, captain. Bart stopped to check on the victim and the witness and I chased the attacker. He ran down to the bottom deck and got lost in the cargo hold. I wasn't able to find him. By the time I got back upstairs, the victim was dead and my brother was trying to calm Miss Mayhew down."

"Miss Mayhew? Then you know the name of the witness?"

"Emily Mayhew? I should hope so. She's retained the services of my brother and me as escorts for the rest of the trip."

"Escorts?"

"Call it what you want. Escorts, bodyguards, protectors; we're now in her employ."

"I thought you and your brother were gamblers?" He made the word sound vile.

Bret ignored the disdain in the captain's voice. "We're multi-talented, captain. But our primary method of making money is card playing. Our pappy taught us not to gamble."

"Card sharps?" That name didn't sound any better, the way he said it.

"That implies a cheater, captain. The Mavericks are honest poker players."

"No offense meant, Mr. Maverick."

Sure. But out loud he said, "Understood. I presume you know that Miss Mayhew's room was broken into this morning?"

"Yes, she came and informed me."

"And showed you the threatening note?"

"I told her not to take it seriously. I don't believe the matters are related."

So that's the way the captain was treating this? As unrelated incidents? "You think it's just coincidence that she witnessed a murder last night and she's threatened this morning?"

"I have no proof that they're connected, Mr. Maverick."

"I don't suppose it would do any good to ask you to move Miss Mayhew to another room?"

The captain snorted. "I would if I could. I don't have another room."

"Not on any deck?"

"No, sir, absolutely none. I'm afraid there's nowhere for her to go."

'_Yes there is,_' thought Bret, but he didn't volunteer that information to Sampson. "Any more questions for me or my brother, captain?"

"Tell me, what did this man that got away from you look like?"

"Oh, about so high," Bret held his hand out at about the six foot tall range. "Sandy colored hair, black coat, a little on the heavy side, kinda unpleasant lookin' fella."

Sampson stroked his chin for a minute or two, trying to think of any other questions he might have. Finally he admitted there was nothing else. "That's all for now, Mr. Maverick. I'll let you know if I think of anything else."

'_You do that,'_ he thought, but out loud he said "You know where you can find us, Captain Sampson."

He started back for Emily's room and happened to notice something lying on the ground as he came around the corner. He got closer and bent to pick it up – it was a small gold locket.

XXXXXXXX

That pesky knock at the door again. This time Bart drew his gun but stayed seated. "Come in."

The door opened very slowly before a familiar black hat could be seen. "Wouldn't shoot your own brother, would you?"

"Don't tempt me," Bart answered, laughing. "Find out anything new?"

"Captain Sampson is an idiot?"

"That's not new." Bart had a point.

"He doesn't have any place to move Emily so that she's out of this room." Let Bart come to the same conclusion that Bret had. It'd be easier than trying to convince his brother of something.

"We do," came the expected reply.

"That's my boy," Bret's familiar answer.

"Emily, come on out here." Emily emerged from the tiny closet with a bag in her hand. Obviously Bart had anticipated Bret's idea. Bart grinned at his brother.

"Not as dumb as you think, Brother Bret."

"Okay genius, let's get out of here." He turned his attention to Emily and opened his hand, which held the locket. "Does this look at all familiar?"

"The locket! My momma's locket!" she exclaimed. "Where did you find it?"

"Right around the corner, by the stairs to the upper deck. I take it you recognize it?"

She grabbed the little gold locket from Bret's hand, threw her arms around his neck, and planted a big kiss on him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You don't know what that means to me!"

Emily was happily twirling around the tiny room, holding the locket up to stare at it. She looked thrilled. Bret looked stunned. Bart looked jealous.

Finally Bart spoke up. "How about we get this happy little group back to our room, where it's a whole lot safer?"

Bret nodded and picked his hat up off the floor, where it landed when Emily grabbed him and kissed him. He took her bag and opened the door, looking out into the hall to make sure there was no one in sight. He turned his head back to Bart and nodded. The three of them made their way down the hall and up the stairs, quietly and with guns drawn. Bret unlocked the door to their stateroom and they filed silently inside.

XXXXXXXX

An hour later they were in the sitting room discussing their plans for the evening. All three would go to supper, then one of them would return with Emily to their suite and the other would go to the gaming salon and play poker. Whoever played poker would then retire to Emily's room when he was done and spend the rest of the night there. Maybe whoever had ransacked the room this morning would return to finish the job.

Bart volunteered to spend the night in the stateroom with Emily first and Bret could try the poker tables. That matter settled, the brothers were delighted to find that Jerome Lewis had taught Emily the finer points of poker and she was well versed in the game. He'd also taught her most of the 'dark arts' – ways to cheat with the cards. And she was good at it. As a matter of fact she was excellent at it. Bret and Bart were forced into playing poker the way they normally played only with each other – whoever dealt the cards cheated the other one. If Lewis played twice as good as Emily – and she insisted he did – then his reputation as a master craftsman of the dark arts was well deserved. When they quit playing, Emily was ahead of both of them. By cheating, of course.

They temporarily moved Emily's belongings into Bret's room, while Bret took what little he needed back down to Emily's and left it there. Then they all went to supper, where Bret once again had a wonderful time with the food. Bart really envied his brother's ability to eat like nothing else mattered in the world; while the best he could do was pick at his. Emily was not especially interested in food, either, but both men insisted that she had to eat. Bret then turned the tables on his brother and tried to strong arm Bart into cleaning his plate. On the threat of a painful death Bret finally gave in and gave up his fight and Bart ordered coffee.

"I swear, why don't you just carry around a flask of the stuff the way your friend Doc carries around a bottle of whiskey?" Bret asked his brother.

"Now there's an idea whose time will come," the younger Maverick replied.

"Your friend Doc?" Emily asked, the first time she'd done anything much more than chew and swallow.

"Doc Holliday," Bart answered; he and Doc had been friends for a while. Bret knew him too, but not as well as Bart did.

"The gunfighter?" Emily asked incredulously.

"The dentist," answered Bart.

"There's more than one?"

Both men laughed, Bart the most amused. "Sometimes I think there is. But no, there's only one."

"But he's a killer!" Emily protested.

"Only when he needs to be. Doc's a good friend. Saved my life more than once."

Bret tapped his brother on the shoulder. "I seem to recall you returning the favor, Brother Bart."

Bart was pensive and then said quietly, "That I did. And more than glad to be of assistance." He laid his napkin back on the table and finished his coffee.

"Brother Bret, I believe you have a date with the cards. Miss Emily, we have date with the stateroom." Bart stood and held Emily's chair while she got up. Before escorting her back to their room, Bart turned and waved his finger in Bret's face. "You be a good boy now, you hear, and win lots of money for your poor brother Bart. And don't stay out too late." He clapped his brother on the shoulder and took Emily's arm. "Come on now, I need a smoke." And with that they left the dining salon.


	5. Chapter 5 Cigars, Derringers & Dark Wate

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 5 – Cigars, Derringers and Dark Water

He deposited Emily in the stateroom and handed her his derringer. "Do you know how to use this?"

"Yes."

"Good. If anybody comes through that door and their name isn't Maverick, shoot 'em."

"But Bart- "

"No buts, Emily. Don't argue with me. If someone tries to get in here and it isn't Bret or me, they're probably here to kill you. Don't take that risk. Shoot."

"Yes sir," she answered, not at all happy with the instructions she'd just received.

He closed the stateroom door and locked it behind him. As soon as he walked out to the deck railing he pulled a cigar from his coat pocket and lit it. He leaned against the railing and smoked, watching the moonlight on the river and listening to the sound of the paddlewheel turn. The air was crisp and clean and a light breeze ruffled his hair. This was supposed to be a nice, relaxing trip down the Mississippi, more pleasure than anything else, a chance to rest and recoup after the last three years had played out. Instead they were once again in the middle of something happening in someone else's life, that had now become their lives. How did they get into these things? And how would they get out of this one?

His mind was so focused on the sights and sounds in front of him that he momentarily forgot about the beautiful young woman in his stateroom. He listened to the noises that the night made and felt alive, with no great issues weighing him down as they had for months, years. He was so adrift mentally that he didn't hear the small 'ooof' sound that emanated from the vicinity of his stateroom door. He stood at the railing for a few minutes more, watching the dark water underneath the ship, and then threw the rest of the cigar into the darkness. As soon as he made the turn in the hall that led to their room he saw a body lying prone in front of their door. He pulled his gun and approached it cautiously until he got close enough to see the rapidly spreading pool of blood underneath.

He holstered the gun and bent down to turn the body over. This time the man was young, early twenties, and again well-dressed. Just as he saw that the man's throat had also been cut he heard a door opening and looked up to see Emily standing in the doorway, the derringer in her hand. She looked at Bart, and at the dead man, and screamed much as she had last night. Since there was no deck railing to hold onto this time she fainted, dropping into Bart's arms just as he stood up.

It took no effort to pick her up and carry her into the stateroom, setting her down gently on the settee. He removed the derringer from her hand and returned it to the shoulder holster he wore under his coat. As he straightened he saw a very unwelcome sight – a young ship's steward with a gun pointed at him. "Put that thing away, son, before it goes off and somebody gets hurt – namely me."

"Just stand still, sir," the steward replied, "I've already sent for the captain. He'll be here any minute."

'_Oh no, not again,_' Bart immediately thought. "Why me?" he muttered out loud, quickly followed by "Put the gun away. Where do you think I'm going to go? I have a young lady here who needs my attention." He kneeled down next to the settee and gently tapped Emily's face. Her eyelids fluttered and tried to open. "Emily, wake up. I need you awake to hear this."

She was groggy and slow to answer. "Bart? Is that you? I fainted?"

"You fainted," he replied. "Wake up for me, please." He got back on his feet and walked towards the door.

Just then he heard Captain Sampson's voice. "Amos put that thing away. What do you think you're doing?"

"I caught this man attempting to flee the scene of a crime," the steward answered his captain.

"Please, young man, this is Mr. Maverick's room. He belongs here. He's a guest for the trip. Where was he fleeing to? His own room? I told you to quit reading those dime novels; they're nothing but trash and they're dangerous." The captain turned his attention back to Bart. "Mr. Maverick, who is this man?" He pointed at the dead body.

"I'd love to tell you, Captain, but I have no idea." Bart wasn't any happier about having to give that answer than the captain was hearing it.

Emily staggered into the doorway behind him and asked, "What happened?" Then she looked down and saw the body, and the pool of blood, and started to faint once more. Bart caught her again and took her back over to the settee. This time he left her there and returned to Captain Sampson.

The weapon was still pointed at him. "Alright, Mr. Maverick, let's hear it. What happened this time?"

"I was coming back from the deck and a cigar. I turned the corner down there at the end of the hall and saw the body. By the time I got here and turned him over Miss Mayhew opened the door and promptly – " he pointed to her, lying prone on the sofa. "Like she just did."

"And you don't know who this man is?"

"Not a clue, Captain."

The captain looked skeptical. "How do these things keep happening to you?"

"Lucky?"

Emily stirred again. The captain stepped over the body and inside the room and lowered the gun. He walked over to the settee where the young woman was just opening her eyes. No use risking another fainting spell.

"Miss Mayhew, can you hear me?"

'Mmmhmm," she offered, then realized who was asking her and tried to sit up.

"That's alright, Miss, you can stay down. Can you answer some questions for me?"

She was awake now, if not completely alert. She nodded 'yes.'

"Do you know who the dead man is?"

"No," she replied, then turned her head to bring Bart into her line of sight. "Don't you, Bart?"

"Nope," was the best answer he could give her.

"Miss Mayhew, look at me," the captain urged her. She turned back to Sampson. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure. I heard a noise in the hall and went to see if it was Bart. When I opened the door I found the body with him standing over it. Then I fainted. Sorry."

"And you didn't see anyone running away? Or anyone at all?"

"No, just Bart." She looked at Maverick. "Was I supposed to say that?"

"That's alright, Emily, just tell the truth."

The Captain looked out at the steward, who was just standing up from examining the corpse. "Throat cut?"

"Yes sir, just recently, too."

"Mr. Maverick, I have no reason to hold you for murder. But I would appreciate it if you would accompany me to the pilothouse so I can ask you a few questions."

'_Why not?' _thought the young gambler_. 'Maybe he'll only ask me the same questions twice this time.'_ Out loud he answered, "Certainly, Captain. Lead away."

XXXXXXXX

An hour later they were still at it. Every time Bart answered one of Sampson's questions, the captain rephrased it and asked it again. "Tell me the whole thing one more time," was the next thing the captain requested.

"We had supper. I took Miss Mayhew back to the stateroom and went out on deck for a smoke. I stayed out there ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I saw no one. When I came back inside I found the young man already dead, lying practically on our doorstep. I had just turned him over when Miss Mayhew arrived at the door and promptly screamed and fainted. I carried her over to the sofa and your steward appeared before I had a chance to do anything else."

"And where is your brother this evening?"

"You mean this morning, don't you? Bret is probably still in one of the gaming rooms, playing poker."

The captain beckoned another steward over and whispered something to him. No doubt going to ascertain where Bret Maverick was.

"And you still have no idea who either one of these men are?"

"The answer to that question hasn't changed since the last time you asked me, Captain. No, I don't know either of them."

Sampson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Mr. Maverick, do you carry a knife?"

"You mean do I have the murder weapon on me? No, captain, I do 't carry a knife. The only thing I know how to do with one is cut steak. I don't even need one to cut the cards."

The captain was not amused by Bart's attempt at humor. "Alright, Mr. Maverick, I see no reason to detain you any longer. I appreciate your co-operation. You have no intention of leaving the ship before she docks in New Orleans, do you?"

"No sir, we're on her for the whole trip."

"Good, see to it that you don't change your mind at any of the ports. Good-night, sir."

"Good-bye, captain." Bart finally got to stand up and stretch his legs. As he left the pilothouse again he thought to himself, _'Now what? Who's next on the list? And was someone after Emily, or one of us? Or was it all just coincidental?' _Pappy must have a saying about coincidences somewhere – why couldn't Bart think of one?


	6. Chapter 6 They Oughta Take a Rope

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 6 – They Oughta Take a Rope and Hang Me

By the time Bart returned to the stateroom Emily had long since gone to bed. He unlocked the door to let himself in and found Bret sprawled on the settee, sound asleep. Snoring again, as usual. He untied his tie and let it hang loose as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. By that time he'd reached his brother and leaned down to shake him awake. It didn't take much – almost as soon as Bart touched his shoulder Bret's eyes were open.

"What are you doing here?"

A sly grin worked its way across his brother's face. "Came to see who you killed this time."

"Careful," was the answer. "It might be a Maverick."

"Beau's not here," Bret reminded him. "What happened?"

"Oh, just the usual. Went out for a smoke, came back and slit a man's throat." There wasn't much Bart could do but smile as he said it. The whole idea of him killing someone he'd never met was ludicrous.

"What really happened?"

Bart put his boot up on the table and untied the holster from his leg. Then he removed the entire gun belt and laid it on the sofa. Next came the coat, then the shoulder holster and derringer. Lastly the vest was unbuttoned as he got comfortable enough to tell Bret the whole story. By the time he was finished it was getting light outside. "So now I'm on the list of Captain Sampson's suspects." This had been a long day and Bart reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a cigar and a match. He struck the match on the bottom of the table and lit the cigar.

"Who else do you suppose is on that list?"

Bart blew out smoke as he thought for a moment. Then he answered his brother, "Actually there are three of us on it – me, myself and I."

Bret just hung his head. "It's too early in the day for your humor to be that bad."

"I beg to differ with you, Brother Bret. It's just too early in the day, period. Think there's any hope of sleep?"

"Not much that I can see."

Bart yawned and stretched. "I gotta have a couple hours. You take the first shift, I'll take the second?"

"Fine. I'm stayin' right here until Emily wakes up. Bad sleep is better than no sleep at all."

"My thought exactly. Good – morning, I guess."

Bret waved his hand at his brother. "Hasta lumbago."

"Don't you mean bonjour?"

"Whatever. Go to bed or I will."

"Yes, Pappy."

XXXXXXXX

Emily Mayhew's life had been turned upside down. First the Lewis family told her they couldn't afford to keep her employed as the nanny/nurse/governess to their little girls, then she found her only alternative to be returning to New Orleans and Aunt Millie. Her one last little luxury – a trip aboard an honest-to-goodness brand new riverboat, had turned into a nightmare. First a man was murdered right in front of her, then her room was broken into, torn apart and her most treasured possessions taken. And her life was threatened. The only consolation thus far was named Maverick.

She lay in bed and wondered about the brothers. What made them come running to her rescue just when she needed them most? They were as different as night and day, yet they seemed so much alike. Bret was happy-go-lucky, with charm and dimples to die for. Bart was funny in a quiet sort of way, much more serious than his brother, and equally as handsome. Both were protective of each other and anyone that seemed to need help.

She had no idea what to do next other than try her best to stay alive long enough to reach New Orleans. And then what? Spend how many years looking after Aunt Millie? And what after that? She saw no way to get ahead in life, no way to make enough money to do the things she wanted to do. Travel. Go out west. Live in a big house with lots of cattle and horses and a man that loved her. That she could love and respect back. Maybe one of the Maverick brothers? Probably not, she reasoned. She knew all too well the life of a gambler. She hadn't told Bart and Bret the absolute truth about everything – she'd left one very important detail out. Her father was Everett Mayhew, a gambler and the man that taught Jerome Lewis everything he ever knew about a deck of cards and what could be done with them. And that he and her mother had died when their home burned to the ground while she was spending the summer with Aunt Millie in New Orleans, by a party or parties unknown.

So she had no delusions when it came to marrying a gambler. If that was the kind of man she was attracted to, there was no house with a picket fence in her future. The prospects of which didn't look too good right now.

What she couldn't understand was who would tear her room apart. They were obviously looking for something, and she had no idea what. Did they have to take her father's letters? They were just love letters to her mother, with no value to anyone but her. Why would someone want them?

She finally came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to fall asleep and she might as well get up. She looked at her father's pocket watch, which she still had because she carried it with her at all times. Six thirty in the morning. Was Bart back yet? Only one way to find out. She climbed out of bed and grabbed her robe, wrapping it around her and trying to be as quiet as possible while getting to the door. She opened it just a crack and saw someone asleep on the settee – then opened it a little wider to find that it was Bret and not Bart. Bret was supposed to be sleeping in her room tonight. Did that mean her room was unguarded? What about the rest of her belongings? Surely no one was up at this time of the morning on a riverboat. She could sneak down to her room, retrieve the rest of her possessions, and be back with no one the wiser.

That was how Emily Mayhew came to be standing in her room gathering her property when she realized that someone was watching her from the open door. She turned to face her intruder and was surprised to find Bret standing there, drawn .45 in hand, watching every move she made.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

He pushed the brim of his hat back off his face with the muzzle of the Peacemaker. "What are you doing here?"

"Gathering up the rest of my things," she shot back at him.

"Doing my job," he returned fire.

"Oh." It was the only thing that came to mind.

"Are you gonna be much longer?"

"No, this is it," she replied, holding up a small pile of clothes. "I didn't think anyone would be awake at this hour."

"They aren't. Just you, me and the killer. Not many."

Now she felt embarrassed. "Sorry. Didn't think about that when I saw you in the stateroom."

That's where Bret had every intention of escorting her back to. He took the stack of clothes from her. "Let's go get you dressed and get some breakfast."

They started down the hall and she asked, "Did Bart ever get back from his interrogation with Captain Sampson?"

Bret started to laugh and caught himself. After the events in Montana his brother didn't need another murder accusation. "Yeah, he's back. Not real happy to be the number one suspect just because there isn't anyone else." Maybe she'd understand the predicament better if he explained a little more. So on the way back to the upper deck he did just that.

"We were in Montana. He got framed for murder and spent a lot of time in jail. We got him out of it. He's wary of the implications here."

"We?"

"Me and our Cousin Beau."

"You have a cousin? Where is he? Why isn't he with you?"

"He was still in Montana. Was going to get married. You notice the 'was?' Not sure where he is right now."

"He's not a gambler?" she was curious about this new family member. Anything to take her mind off her own situation.

"Oh sure, we were all raised together. Cousin Beau is like brother number three. I just think he's kind of unsettled right now. He'll turn up – he always does."

"And this murder in Montana? You didn't break Bart out of jail, did you?"

Finally he did laugh. "No, nothing so dramatic. We found the real killer." If Emily wanted to know the rest she could ask his brother.

"So it makes sense. Being skittish about the implications that Captain Sampson leaves everywhere."

"Yeah. I should say it's a little more than skittish. When you're on your way to the gallows – "

Emily couldn't wait any longer for Bret to explain and interrupted. "He was going to be HUNG?"

That was a sore point for Bret, since he held himself responsible for the events getting that far. "Yeah. If I'd been a little slower I'd be on this boat by myself." Bret's devil-may-care mask slipped for a moment and she saw the pain and terror that lurked there at the thought. He covered it up as quickly as it had appeared. It wasn't necessary for her to know how accountable he actually felt.

They'd arrived back at the stateroom and he unlocked the door and held it open for her, then followed her in. Bart's door was closed; obviously he was still asleep. "Go get dressed. I'm starving; we'll have breakfast before we wake up sleeping beauty."

"What about Bart's breakfast?"

That elicited an actual belly-laugh from Bret. "His idea of breakfast is coffee, coffee and coffee. At least three courses of the stuff."

Even Emily laughed at that, then they promptly 'shushed' each other for making too much noise. He finally holstered his gun and sat down on the settee to wait for her. When she was dressed they went to breakfast, leaving Bart alone in the stateroom to deal with the next pounding on the door.


	7. Chapter 7 Mason, Grant and Finch

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 7 – Mason, Grant and Finch

Why did people keep pounding on their door at all hours of the day and night? Once again he found himself answering it and once again the headache was there when he did so. This time he found another ship's steward at the door. "Mr. Maverick?"

"Who else?"

"Captain Sampson sent me to ask you to come to his office; he has some information for you."

'_Maybe some answers at last,_' he thought. "Can it wait for me to get dressed?"

"Yes sir, I'm certain it can. Do you know where the office is?" the steward asked sheepishly.

"I'll find it," was the reply he got. He closed the door and went back to his bedroom to check the time. Nine-thirty. Well, all he'd asked for was two hours sleep; he'd gotten almost three. Dressing this morning didn't include his gun belt – he deliberately left that in his bedroom. He did carry the derringer just in case. Some minutes later he was looking for the captain's office, which wasn't far from the pilothouse. He knocked and heard Sampson's voice, "Come in, Mr. Maverick."

"How'd you know it was me?" he couldn't help but be curious, the door was solid oak with no peephole.

"You're the only one I sent for," Sampson answered seriously.

'_My God,'_ Bart thought, _'the man has no sense of humor.'_ "Captain, you have some information for me?"

"Have a seat, Mr. Maverick. I have some answers that have raised more questions."

Just what he wanted to hear. Now what? "Captain?"

"The two men that were murdered were William Mason and Bradford Grant, both officers of Montana Savings and Loan in Silver Creek, Montana, where you lived for almost a full year. Do you still claim you didn't know either of these men?"

Mason and Grant from Montana Savings and Loan? He'd never been in the bank and had no idea who the men were. Had they ever frequented 'The Three Mavericks' saloon? Highly doubtful. Not too many 'respectable' men did that. "Sorry, Captain, I never met either gentleman. Any idea what they were doing here?"

"All I know so far is they came to find you."

"Me? Are you sure? And what for?"

"Bank business. That's all I've been able to discover so far. Did you owe them money?" The tone in the captain's voice was quite obvious. And quite offensive.

Bart was more than happy to disappoint Sampson. "No, I didn't owe them money. But I am part legal owner of a business there." Jody had never had his name formally removed from the ownership papers to the saloon. Maybe that's what this was all about. But who would be killing men coming to see him?

The captain wasn't willing to give up quite yet. "Are you sure? A gambling debt of some sort, perhaps?"

"No, captain. No gambling debt, no any kind of debt. I don't owe anyone any money." Except that $500 he owed Bret. That didn't count. "Anything else?"

The captain looked skeptical. "Yes, there was another man with them. A Matt Finch. He's a new deputy with the marshal's office. We're still looking for him."

Bart shook his head. "And no one knows what they wanted? Not even the marshal?"

"We haven't been able to reach the marshal. He's up in the mountains somewhere. All I know, Mr. Maverick, is they wanted you."

"Why would I want to kill people who wanted to find me?" It seemed a perfectly reasonable question for Bart to ask.

"My question exactly, Mr. Maverick. Why would you?"

Bart opened his mouth to say something when he realized that Sampson was serious. He actually thought Bart was the murderer! "I think our conversations are at an end, Captain. I have nothing further to say to you." With that as a parting remark he got up and left the office. He headed straight back to the stateroom to see if Bret and Emily had returned yet from breakfast.

XXXXXXXX

Bret was teaching Emily the finer points of Maverick Solitaire when Bart came back to the room. The door unlocked, then opened, then slammed shut, then was locked from the inside, no spoken words necessary. Bart proceeded straight to his room and closed the door. Bret and Emily exchanged looks and he immediately got up to see what triggered the silent reaction. "Bret?" was the only thing said when he knocked on his brother's door.

"Yep, just me. Want to tell me where you were and what happened?" From the look of things, probably at the Captain's, either the pilothouse or his office. Sampson had a way of doing everything he could to aggravate the young gambler.

"Do I look like a murderer to you? Do I strike you as someone who goes around slitting people's throats? Especially people I don't even know?" There was an edge of anger in Bart's voice, even though he asked the questions calmly and quietly.

"How about no, no and no?" Bret was hoping his joking answers would settle Bart back down to where he would talk about this rationally.

"Tell you what, if I were any other kind of man I might be tempted to do just that. But only if I could kill Sampson."

"What happened, Brother Bart?"

"Don't patronize me, Bret!"

Bret went over to his brother, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Bret sat down next to him and put his arm around Bart's shoulders. "I'm not. I want to know what happened."

"Captain Sampson has got me pegged as a murderer." He looked at his brother plaintively. "You know what that means, don't you? Next thing I know he'll have me thrown in jail somewhere." His voice broke. "I can't do that again, Bret. I'd lose my mind."

Bret tightened the grip he had on Bart. "Not gonna happen, Bart. We won't let it." They sat like that for a few minutes while Bart got himself back under control. Then Bret continued, "Tell me what he thinks he has on you."

Bart told his brother the whole story, just as Sampson laid it out for him. When he was done Bret still had hold of him and wasn't letting go. "Nothing. It's nothing! Just because these bankers came looking for you he's going to try and pin the whole thing on you? And where the hell has the deputy disappeared to?" He took his arm off Bart's shoulders and grabbed his brother by both arms, turning Bart to face him. "I won't let him. Do you hear me? I won't let him."

Bret had left the door partially open and both men looked up to see Emily standing there. From the look on her face she'd heard most, if not all, of their conversation. Obviously there was more to the Montana story than Bret had told her. "Have I done anything to cause this?" she asked somberly.

"No," Bret told her, and it was followed up by "No," from Bart.

"Let's just forget the whole thing," she offered.

Bart pulled away from Bret's grasp and faced her. "This has nothing to do with you," he explained to her. "This has to do with – I don't know what it has to do with. But not you."

"But I started this mess," she protested.

"No, you didn't," Bret added. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all."

"We'll deal with this," Bart told her finally. "And we'll protect you. So quit worrying. Let's just get back to the business at hand."

"Which is?" Emily asked.

"Finding out who tore your room apart, and what they were after."

Another knock at the stateroom door set them all on edge. Bret stood up. "I'll deal with this, whatever it is."

He walked out to the front door. Emily turned to Bart. "There's more to the Montana story than just the murder and trial, isn't there?"

Bart leaned his elbows on his knees and folded his hands together. Then he hung his head and stared at the floor. "Yes," was his only answer. He sounded so wretched and lonely.

Emily quickly jumped back in with, "That's okay. You don't have to explain anything. It's really none of my business."

"You should know what you're dealing with," came right back at her. "I haven't had anything today, not even coffee. How about an explanation on neutral ground?"

"I don't think the dining salon is open at this time of day," she replied.

"How about the saloon?"


	8. Chapter 8 A Walk with Love and Death

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 8 – A Walk with Love and Death

A lady might never have set foot inside a saloon on land, but here on the 'Belle' was a different story. All the rules of decorum were at least suspended, if not scrupulously ignored, and ladies ventured where they might never have tread. So it was perfectly proper for Emily to join Bart at a corner table in the saloon in early afternoon for a 'toddy.' Or three, as the case may be for a Maverick facing another murder accusation. Bart described all of the people involved and then began his tale. Emily listened for a while before she had a question to ask.

"So your father wired all three of you to come home?" She wanted to make sure she had this straight.

"That's right," answered Bart. "And when we got there we were informed we had an aunt we never knew existed – Pappy's and Uncle Ben's sister, Jessie. Jessalyn. Of course, by the time we found this out, Jessie had succumbed to consumption. The three of us were told about the saloon, and that we'd each inherited one-third ownership, so we went to Silver Creek. And met Pike and Georgia and Jody Mayfield. Pike hired some low-life gunmen to kill one of us and I evidently drew the short straw. As you can tell they didn't succeed. But they did enough damage to put me out of commission for months. Almost years." He stopped there and took a drink. Just what it was Emily didn't know, but it was his third one. And the bottle was on the table.

"Were you shot?" she asked, not really wanting to pry but needing to know.

"No." Same glass, next drink. This must be quite painful for him to relive, considering the brothers had already told her they didn't drink. "Pistol-whipped. So badly the doctor didn't think I'd live." He smiled at the thought of Doc Washburn, and what a good friend he'd turned into. Emily understood he was remembering someone, and not the event. "But I did. Months later, when I was finally arrested and put on trial, something caused me to have two seizures, and I almost died again. Bret said he told you about the gallows and his rescue at the last minute. I'll never forget the sight of my brother riding over that hill into town screaming and yelling for them to stop the hanging, he had proof I was innocent. I told him he could have gotten there sooner. When we left I gave my third of the saloon to Jody; Bret sold her his for a dollar." He stopped again but didn't drink any more. After a minute he continued. "I miss them. All of them, but especially Jody. She's the little sister I never had. And Bret and I think that she's Jessie's daughter, and not Georgia's, even though we have no proof."

Emily just sat there, stunned by all of it. No wonder he needed a drink or four to go back over everything. She was surprised he hadn't climbed into the bottle and stayed there permanently. Now she understood the feelings behind the conversation she'd heard earlier. What an awful thing to have lived through and again face the prospect of being accused of something you'd had no part in. On instinct alone she reached out and took his hand in hers. She could feel him trembling; he hid it well.

"So now it's simple – find the missing deputy and find the real killer. On board this ship, in just a few days. I have no idea what the bankers wanted with me – how am I supposed to find out who killed 'em?"

Emily shook her head as she answered him. "There has to be a way. Send a wire to the bank?"

Bart's face lit up with a smile. He grabbed Emily's face with his hands and kissed her. "Right now," he persisted, and he jumped up and seized her arm. "Come on!"

"You go," she insisted, shaking off his hand. "I'll go back to the room. I need some time to rest." She really wanted time to digest everything he'd told her.

"Then I'm taking you," and he grabbed her arm again and pulled her to her feet. "I'm not leaving you here alone."

She went with him back down the hall and to the other side of the ship. When they reached the stateroom he unlocked the door and ushered her in, stopping in his room to strap on his gun belt. He wasn't leaving twice in one day without it. He kissed her on the cheek as he ran past her and locked the door behind him. She made a mental note not to get in his way when he was doing something in a hurry.

XXXXXXXX

Bret wasn't there but he'd left her a note. _Emily – I've been waiting for a seat at a particular game since last night. It just became available. I'll be at poker table two in the gaming room if you need me. Keep the door locked and don't open it for anyone. Don't know when I'll be back. Bret. _

Good. That gave her time to lie down and think, maybe even nap. What kind of a situation had she gotten herself in to? Was she safer with the Mavericks to protect her or did trouble just naturally seem to follow them everywhere? And would she leave now even if she could? Or was it too late for that?

Those and other similar thoughts kept spinning in her head until she finally realized she was worn out. She went back to what had been Bret's room and laid down on the bed, falling asleep within minutes. Her dreams were as wild as the last two days had been and in them she kept bouncing back and forth between Bret and Bart, trying to grab onto one or the other and never quite managing it. She thought she heard the front door open and close again but she remained asleep and realized she must have imagined the sound. It was almost an hour later when she was finally sure she heard something and sat up in bed, now fully awake. She got up and went out into the sitting room but the door was closed and still locked and she was the only one there.

Just a few minutes later Bart returned, unlocking the door as he entered and looking quite pleased with himself. "Emily – glad you're awake. I have news."

He came over to the settee and sat down next to her. "Your idea was brilliant. It took a while to get the wires through but the telegraph operator finally got it all done."

"Wire?" she asked.

"Wires," he explained. "I sent one to the bank, and one to Georgia Mayfield, and the last one to Jody. I should know something soon."

"What did you ask them?"

"The bank – that's obvious. Who Mason and Grant were and what they wanted with me. I wired Georgia to see if she knew where Cousin Beau had disappeared to, and the one to Jody asked her if she needed my signature on something, like transfer of ownership papers or a deed. My mind was in such a mess who knows when I would have thought about sending telegrams on my own. Thanks for thinking for me."

"Glad to be able to help," she was pleased to have done something positive for a change.

Bart looked around the room. "Bret asleep?" he finally asked.

She shook her head 'no' and handed him the note. Bart read it and laughed. "Trust Brother Bret to find a way out of any given situation." He gave her the note back. "How about a walk around the deck?" he asked her. "I think we're safe in the daylight with so many people around."

"If you think it's safe, I'd love to. Let me grab a shawl."

She disappeared for a moment into Bret's room and emerged with a beautiful black woven shawl around her shoulders.

"Very nice," he approved.

"Thank you. It was my mother's a long time ago. She lent it to me when I went to Aunt Millie's for the summer one year."

Once again he took her arm and escorted her through the door and out onto the deck. The sun was bright and the breeze was warm, and there were more than a few people walking around enjoying the beautiful river views. They walked for a while in silence, and then Bart finally asked. "What happened to your mother and father?" Emily had never officially told him they were dead; he just assumed so from several of the remarks she'd made.

"When I was ten years old I went to spend the summer with my Aunt Millie in New Orleans. That's the summer my parents were killed."

"Killed?" he asked. "Or murdered?"

"That's a good question. Murdered, I think. They died in a fire."

"What kind of fire?" He held onto her arm just a little tighter.

"The house burned down."

He gave an involuntary shudder, having been in a house that burned to the ground not all that long ago in New Mexico. Burning to death was a horrible way to die.

"And you're sure they were in it?" It was an insensitive but totally necessary question.

"Oh yes," she responded. "The sheriff found their bodies. There was no question about it being them."

"I'm sorry," he told her hurriedly. "And I'm sorry for asking the question. But I needed to be sure."

"Sure of what?" Emily asked innocently.

"That you're Everett Mayhew's daughter."

XXXXXXXX

Bret smiled and raked in the latest pot. This was the reason he'd agreed to come on this trip down the Mississippi, hoping to make at least some part of a small fortune in poker winnings. Between the hands he'd won this afternoon and last night's winnings he was well on his way. He puffed happily on the cigar clenched between his teeth. "Gentlemen, another round?"

The table was full of smiling, nodding southern men, each one of whom had already lost a good portion of the funds they started out with. Five card draw, the Maverick game of choice, was definitely going Bret's way this afternoon. He shuffled the cards and dealt the next hand. This was turning into a wonderful afternoon.

XXXXXXXX

"What!" She stopped dead in her tracks, mad as an angry bee. "You knew all along?"

"No, ma'am," came his remorseful sounding reply. "It was the fire."

She shook her head. "I should have known. That damn fire killed my parents and someday It's gonna kill me."

Once he got over the shock of hearing an actual lady curse, he asked, "Why?"

"I assume you no longer wish to protect me from whatever it is that's stalking me?"

He gave her a sideways glance, continuing to walk and forcing her to keep up with him. "Why would you assume that?"

"Because that's always the reaction I get when somebody finds out who my daddy was." She sounded defiant, even as she said the words.

This time it was his turn to stop. "Hello. My name is Bart Maverick. My pappy is a legend in the world of gamblers, and not the normal kind of legend. Oh no, he's that weird concoction – an honest gambler who can cheat with the best of them when need be. I was arrested, tried and convicted for a murder I didn't commit. My brother Bret has broken more hearts than any one man should be allowed to break, and my cousin Beau – well, he's in a class all by himself. Even won a medal in the War. And I should let whatever wolves are after you have what they can get just because your father was Everett Mayhew? I think not."

He was so solemn as he reiterated all this to her that she had to laugh. And he laughed with her.

When they stopped laughing they started walking again. "Why didn't you tell us who your father was?"

"How was I supposed to know I'd get that kind of a reaction from you? Everyone who's ever found out just turned their backs and walked away."

"You know my story. Bret's isn't quite as colorful as mine, but he is unique in his own way. The last thing either of us would do is desert a lady that needed our help. Even if she is a Mayhew."

She wondered about something and asked him. "Did our fathers know each other?"

"Not exactly. To hear Pappy tell it, they played against each other a few times. Pappy respected what Everett could do with a deck of cards and chose not to. He was surprised to hear that he'd taught all those skills to somebody like Jerome Lewis."

"That was unavoidable," she answered his unspoken question. "My father was in debt to another man, who was demanding immediate payment. Lewis was young and cocky and offered him a lot of money to learn the dark arts of poker, and daddy didn't have any other way out. So he taught Jerome everything and hoped Lewis would never use it. And a legend was born. You know what he did with his knowledge. Until the girls were born. Now he doesn't play that way anymore."

Bart shook his head. He hated to be the one to tell her, but she needed to know she'd made the right move by leaving St. Louis. "He's gone back to what he knows, Emily. He's cheating again. It's only a matter of time until someone or something catches up to him."

She looked so sad, and a tear slipped down her cheek. He stopped for a moment to brush it away. "Don't. There's nothing you can do to change things. It's his own decision."

Now she was curious about them. "You two know all the same tricks. But you both play an honest game. Why? There's so much more money the other way."

"And there's so many more bullets waiting for you. No, Pappy taught us a skill, not parlor tricks. If he ever heard of either of us cheating when we were playing against honest folks, he'd kill us, even at our age. That's not the way we were raised, and that's not the way we play." He thought of his own dark moments down in Mexico, right after Caroline's death. Thank God that hadn't lasted long before he came to his senses.

They'd circled the ship twice and the long day and lack of sleep was beginning to wear on Bart. "How 'bout we go back?" he asked Emily.

"Fine by me," she answered as she pulled the shawl tighter around her. The breeze had changed from warm to cool and she was getting cold, even with her mother's long distance embrace. At the next turn of the deck they headed back towards the Maverick's stateroom. As they came around the corner Bart could see someone pounding on the door. It was Captain Sampson, and he wasn't alone. There were two older and wiser looking stewards with him, and they all had guns drawn and pointed at Bart and Emily.

"What do you want now, Captain?" Bart asked, annoyed.

"We found Deputy Finch, Mr. Maverick. His body was stuffed behind one of the boilers. His throat had been cut." Captain Sampson told him.

"And why are you here, Captain?" Another reasonable question, Bart thought.

"We need to search your room, Mr. Maverick."


	9. Chapter 9 Memphis Belle

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 9 – Memphis Belle

"What? You need to do what?"

Captain Sampson didn't hesitate. "We need to search your room."

"Why?" Bart stood absolutely still in the hall, clenching and unclenching his fists. Sampson saw the movement and kept the gun pointed at him.

"To search for the murder weapon."

"In my room?" His voice rose in intensity.

The captain didn't say anything, just stood there looking at Bart with the gun trained on him. The gambler finally unlocked the door and escorted Emily inside, then ushered in the three ships personnel.

"Which room is yours, Mr. Maverick.?"

Bart pointed to the one on the left. The stewards went into his bedroom while the captain remained in the sitting area, never having lowered his gun. Emily leaned over to him and whispered, "Are you alright?"

He shook his head 'no' and gripped her hand tightly. He could hear his room being torn apart and his anger was fighting with his fear for control of his emotions. Long minutes passed and finally one of the stewards came to the bedroom door and motioned the captain inside. Sampson waved the gun at Bart to indicate 'you go first' and then followed him and Emily into the room. The second steward was holding up a corner of Bart's mattress, fully exposing something lying underneath. It was a short, mean looking knife, with a razor sharp edge and blood on the blade and handle. The kind of knife that could be concealed under a man's coat. The kind of knife that could be used to cut someone's throat.

Emily gasped as Bart dropped her hand. "I presume this is yours, Mr. Maverick," Sampson accused him.

Bart's voice stayed calm but Emily was standing close enough to him to feel his whole body shaking. "Never saw if before in my life."

The Captain looked doubtful and pulled Emily away from Bart's side. "Mr. Maverick, I need you to come with me. I have to detain you as the primary suspect in the murders of William Mason, Bradford Grant and Matt Finch. You'll remain in my custody until either sufficient evidence is presented to clear you of suspicion or you can be turned over to the marshal at the port of Memphis."

The burliest of the stewards put his gun in Bart's back and pushed him out through the bedroom door. Emily lunged for the man but Captain Sampson grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

Bart's voice was ragged as he told Emily, "Go get Bret. Tell him what's happened and where I'm being held." He surmised the destination and guessed correctly. "His office."

The second steward picked up the knife and lowered the mattress. Sampson followed Bart and the stewards out of the stateroom and into the hall. Emily closed the door behind her and practically ran to the gaming room. The others proceeded to Captain Sampson's office, where Bart was manhandled into a chair facing the captain's desk.

The only thing holding Maverick together right now was the tight rein he had on his emotions. He'd been in this spot before and it almost killed him. He was determined not to let this destroy the fragile peace he'd tried to maintain since his release.

"I've tried to be fair with you, Mr. Maverick. I've shared information with you and given you every chance to come forth with the truth about these murders. And you've done nothing but lie to me. And now we find the murder weapon in your room. I have no choice but to keep you in custody until we reach Memphis and I can turn you over to the local authorities. Do you have anything to say?"

Bart simply shook his head 'no.' He wasn't about to say one more word until Bret arrive. Sampson had him tried and convicted, and nothing Bart could say would change his mind. They sat there for less than five minutes, and then Bret came tearing through the office door, not bothering to knock.

He strode right over behind Bart and put his hands on his brother's shoulders, gripping him tightly. He squeezed to show Bart his support and glared at Sampson. "Just what is this, Captain? Why do you have my brother up here?"

"I've detained him because we found the murder weapon in his section of the Maverick stateroom. He'll be turned over to the authorities when we reach Memphis."

Bret still had his hands on his brother's shoulders and he could feel Bart shuddering. "You'll do no such thing, Sampson. Bart is innocent and you know it. Turn him loose right now and I won't report you for incompetence."

Bret was bluffing, and Bart knew it. The question was, did Sampson?

"And how do you explain the evidence we found?"

Bret was quick with an answer. "Planted. You have proof he didn't kill your first victim. Emily Mayhew saw the murder committed, and I saw the murderer. And there's absolutely no evidence to suggest he had anything to do with the death of either of the last two victims. No one saw them together. No one saw the crimes committed. No one even knows exactly why the men were on board. We're still waiting for that answer. Let him come back to the stateroom with me. If I can't prove to you that he had nothing to do with this in 48 hours I guarantee he'll turn himself in when we reach Memphis. Deal?" It was a risky play – and Bret knew it. But it was a risk worth taking.

The captain sat there and watched the two of them. He might be suspicious of Bart, but for some reason he trusted Bret. There was a bond between these brothers; anyone with two eyes could see that. Bret Maverick believed absolutely in his brother's innocence. He had the unnerving feeling that he should, too. Was he willing to gamble his job on a hunch?

"Alright. Mr. Maverick. I'll probably need a new job when this is all over with. Take your brother with you; you've got forty-eight hours to exonerate him."

Bret released the grip he had on one shoulder and leaned over to his brother. "Alright?" he whispered. Bart nodded and got up. Bret shifted his hand to his brother's arm and steered him to the door. Once the office door closed behind them he kept Bart headed in the right direction, towards the stateroom. Out onto the open deck Bart instinctively headed for the rail and leaned on it, staring out into the dark water below. He stood that way for a few minutes as he got hold of himself and then resolutely turned his head in his brother's direction.

"Maybe I should just jump overboard and end it all." He finished the statement with a sardonic laugh, but there was nothing funny about the sentiment.

The dark side of Bart Maverick's soul had emerged and it scared his brother to death. Once again Bret encompassed his brother's shoulders with his arm. "Don't even say that if you're kidding. It's not funny." He gently turned Bart away from the railing to face him. "I almost lost you in Montana. And from what you've told me, in Carson City, too. Don't you know what it'd do to me if you weren't here? How am I supposed to keep ploddin' around this ol' country without you?" That mask of the carefree older brother once again slipped away and the look he gave his brother was one of sheer terror. He was on the verge of shaking Bart if that's what it took to get through to him. His face was only inches away from his brother's as he let escape through clenched teeth, "Don't ever joke about dying."

Bart wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd expected from Bret, but that wasn't it. Underneath the happy-go-lucky charmer was a man that cared deeply about his family, Bart principal among them. From the way he'd reacted to Bart's flippant statement there would be no 'getting over it and moving on' if something that resembled death were to occur. All Bart could do was whisper "Sorry" and watch the terror slowly fade from his brother's eyes. Then suddenly the Bret Maverick mask was back in place and it grinned at him. "Got that all out of your system?"

The younger brother nodded, afraid to trust his own voice.

"Come on then, Brother Bart, we've got some detective work to do."

XXXXXXXX

The girl had been terrified when she'd run into the gaming room looking for someone. It didn't take her long to find him, and she ran over and whispered something in his ear. He immediately shoved back his chair and stood, telling the other men at the table, "Sorry. Family emergency." He threw his cards on the table, grabbed the stack of money in front of him, and followed the girl out of the room in what could only be called 'a hasty departure.' The remaining players looked at each other and whispered among themselves. Whatever it was must be terrible indeed, since the gambler had been the big winner to that point, and there'd been no sign that his luck or skill would change any time soon. Maybe this meant what he'd planned for had occurred. All that hard work come to fruition. He smiled to himself and smoothed his uniform down. Marcus Hook would be pleased that the job was well on its way to being completed.

XXXXXXXX

Emily was waiting back at the stateroom when the brothers returned and she flew into Bart's arms as he came through the door. "He got you back!" She was so excited, after the awful scene with Captain Sampson, that she kissed him and surprised both of them. Then she turned her attention to Bret and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

He tipped his hat to her. "My pleasure," he smiled.

Bart went straight to the settee and crashed down onto it. He looked like a man who had just been through the worst nightmare of his life. "Am I really here?" he asked no one in particular. Emily and Bret joined him. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and stared at the two of them, sitting side by side on the other sofa. "What now?"

"Now we find the real killer," Bret answered him. "You're not getting off in Memphis."


	10. Chapter 10 All Kinds of Missing

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 10 – All Kinds of Missing

Samuel Fisher of Montana Savings and Loan replied to Bart's telegram.

_Mason and Grant to obtain your signature on Deed of Transfer._

_Finch sent as protection._

_Jody Mayfield requestor of Deed._

_Samuel Fisher, President. Montana S &amp; L_

So Jody was the person who'd requested the official Deed of Transfer. There must be a reason for it, she'd had almost a year to make the change of ownership official and she hadn't done anything about it. Why now? And why hadn't she answered his telegram to her?

These were some of the questions running through Bart's mind when he got the Fisher telegram. It was the first piece of the puzzle that they'd received in days and at least it gave them a starting point. Bret had a hunch about the man actually committing the murders and went back to see Captain Sampson, hoping to get a roster of employees. Emily told both men about her dream that someone had entered the suite and the information served to enforce Bret's suspicions that the intruder was a ship employee. How else could someone gain access to the stateroom to plant the murder weapon? There was no sign of a break-in; that limited access to someone with a key. The only other keys besides those in Bret and Bart's possession belonged to the staff on the ship.

Sampson was reluctant to hand over the list of employees at first but reconsidered when he determined that helping Bret Maverick clear his brother of murder charges might be the only way to save his job. Bret took the list back to the stateroom and went over the information carefully. He found three men hired at the last minute for positions on the Belle's maiden voyage – a bartender named Fred Dabner and two stewards – Zeke Crawford and Tim Jameson. It was someplace to start.

In all the confusion over Bart's 'detention' the question of Emily's prowler had been forgotten. Until another note was slipped under her door. This one read _'I know you still have it. Where is it?' _

After the three put their heads together it was decided that Bret's efforts were most likely to bear fruit if he concentrated on the three new employees. Bart, meanwhile, being too high profile at this point to work on his own problems, would continue to squire Emily around the ship and take his turn tonight at the poker tables. Then retire to her room and wait to see if anyone would take the bait. It would also give him something to concentrate on other than the unsolved murders. Emily's main job was to be seen by the ships personnel and passengers and then 'retire' to her room, to stay safe and secure in the Maverick stateroom while everyone believed her to be asleep on the second deck.

Bret left the stateroom in search of his first new employee and had no trouble finding the man – Fred Dabner, in the saloon. He couldn't possibly be the killer – he was bald as a billiard ball and well past the age of consent. Bret drank coffee and chatted with the bartender for about twenty minutes and tried to pick his brain regarding the other two new employees. From Dabner's description of Tim Jameson, he didn't fit the physical picture of what Bret was looking for, either. He was not much more than a green kid, short and quick and a real go-getter. Dabner didn't know Zeke Crawford and couldn't give Maverick any information. He thanked the bartender and went looking for Crawford, hoping it wouldn't take him long to find the steward. Zeke Crawford proved to be elusive, however, and Bret spent the better part of the evening and most of the night hunting a ghost.

Bart and Emily went to the dining salon and Bart pretended to be interested in supper. Emily was still trying to figure out he survived on the small amount of food she'd seen him eat. Just to humor her he ordered steak and potatoes and found that he was actually hungry. And Emily became the latest lady in his life that was amused by his seeming addiction to coffee. After supper they walked back carefully and prominently out along the deck so that they could be seen and kept track of by whoever might be watching them. After making sure that they were observed arriving at Emily Mayhew's room, they waited until there was no one in sight and snuck back up to the top deck stateroom. Bart made sure that Emily was safe, locked in for the evening and then drifted back down to the gaming room, where he quickly found a suitable poker game and joined the table.

Half a night later and several thousand dollars ahead, Bart couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. At the end of the next hand he excused himself for the night and was last seen heading back to the stateroom. As soon as he could do so he found himself at Emily's door, where he surreptitiously entered without being seen. The plan was to stay awake and wait, in the hope that whoever had been threatening the young lady would try to break in to her room and get caught before he could do any more harm. And that was totally Bart's intention when he got to Emily's room.

He was so tired that it was a struggle to stay awake. A struggle that he gradually lost, and without ever being aware of it, he fell asleep. He slept fitfully; after Captain Sampson and the search of his room, the nightmares about jail and dying resurfaced. Around four in the morning he realized there was someone in the room with him and he fought to wake completely. The figure was a man, about Bart's own height but heavier and darker. For some reason the intruder looked strangely familiar – Bart tried to place him but it was difficult to see in the dimly lit room. Obviously looking for something, the thief was digging through the shattered pieces of Emily's wooden treasure box. Bart reached for his gun and remembered it wasn't next to him; it was still secure in its holster, buckled around his hips and strapped to his right leg. It was almost impossible to get the Peacemaker out and into his hand without being spotted. Just then the shadowy figure looked up and Bart could clearly see his face – it was Jerome Lewis.

Lewis realized the person sleeping on the bed wasn't Emily and pointed his weapon just as the young gambler saw him clearly. Bart rolled sideways as the gun discharged and saved his life, but the bullet caught him in the upper arm and stung like he'd been set on fire. He got the Peacemaker out of its holster and got a shot off, but his aim was erratic and he caught the corner of the door instead of Lewis. The door slammed shut as the thief made his escape; Bart let out a howl of pain.

He was bleeding where the bullet struck him and he grabbed for his arm; he had to get up and get out of there before he passed out from blood loss. He shifted his gun to his left hand and struggled out of bed, leaning to the left and crashing heavily into a wall before he could make it to the door. He managed to get the door open and staggered into the hallway, stumbling and almost falling more than once before he slumped against a wall and slid the length of it to the stairs. He managed to get up four steps before he finally crashed to the ground in the stairway and laid there bleeding and unconscious.

XXXXXXXX

Bret was a frustrated man. He'd spent almost the entire night searching for Zeke Crawford, to no avail. Every time he'd get to where Crawford was last seen he'd already left there and gone somewhere else. Finally he gave up and realized the search would have to be continued in the morning; he was too tired to keep going. He needed sleep, at least a few hours, and he wasn't that far away from the stateroom, just upstairs and around the corner.

He climbed the first set of stairs he came to and walked quietly down the hall. At just after five o'clock in the morning almost everyone was asleep. When he got to the stateroom door he paused to dig out the key and that's when he heard it. Soft and low, almost too faint to perceive, it sounded like moaning. He must be hearing things. No, there it was again. He wasn't imagining it. He heard someone moaning. Probably an inebriated southern gentleman. He had the door unlocked and ready to open when he heard it one more time. It sounded like someone in pain and he couldn't go to bed wondering. Bret walked back down the hallway, towards the staircase he hadn't taken, and the closer he got the louder the sound. When he reached the stairs he looked down. There was a body lying across the steps, near the bottom, and that's who was making the noise. He was right; it looked like the man had simply passed out on the way up the stairs. Then the gleam of something caught his eye and he could see a ring. A pinky ring. Bart. He knew in a split second this was no inebriated southerner. This was his brother.

Bret went running down the stairs, no longer caring how much noise he made or what time of the morning it was. As he got closer to Bart he could see the red stain all down the left sleeve of the shirt. He'd been shot in the arm and appeared to have lost a lot of blood. "Bart! Bart! Wake up now, son, we need to get you on your feet and out of here."

There was no response from his brother besides another moan of pain and Bret did the only thing he could do – picked Bart up and carried him over his shoulder, back up to the door of the stateroom. He twisted the door handle and it opened; he brought Bart in and laid him down across the bed. Bret could see the bullet hole torn in the shirt and the whole front of the sleeve was as red as the back. "Emily!" he yelled as loud as he could and hoped it was enough to wake her. It was. In just a few moments she came scurrying in to the room and gasped when she saw Bart lying there covered in his own blood. "Don't you dare faint!" Bret commanded.

She gulped and nodded her head. "Go get the doctor. Tell him it's a gunshot wound. Get him up here in a hurry." When she stood there for a few seconds he turned his attention temporarily away from Bart and back to her. "Go on now. Git. We need the doctor here. Shoo."

She finally nodded and ran. The thought that she might be in danger never crossed his mind; his only concern was his brother. If it was any other person Bret might not be so worried, but Bart had already been through enough physical trauma to kill most men and survived. He wasn't taking any chances with his brother's life.

Bret got Bart's shirt unbuttoned and partially off – as careful as he was when removing the left sleeve Bart still moaned in pain. Thank goodness he was unconscious. The shoulder holster with the derringer in it came off easily enough and Bret set it off to the side. He could see the bullet wound – right into the bicep on his brother's arm. That was gonna hurt like hell for quite a while. And now there was nothing that Bart could use for the pain, save laudanum, and Bart swore he wouldn't touch that again; they didn't dare take a chance on using aspirin, since the possibility of a severe reaction loomed. He'd have to tough it out, and it wouldn't be pretty. Bret pushed his brother's hair back from his face and prayed with all his heart that Bart would stay unconscious while the doctor did whatever he was going to have to do. Where was the doctor, anyway?

Just then he heard the door opening and voices. Emily's was one of them; he assumed the other to be the doctor's. "In here," he called, expecting to see a familiar face and an unfamiliar one. Emily was the first person through the door, but the next thing he saw wasn't the doctor – it was the barrel of a gun. Followed by the same man that had just shot his brother. Jerome Lewis.

Bret refused to play poker against Lewis – he knew his reputation and the kind of gambler he was. It didn't matter that everyone said Lewis changed when he became a father – there was something about the man that Bret's instincts told him not to trust. But he certainly knew the man by sight – and knew his reputation with a gun. Whispered stories said he'd even backed Doc Holliday down once. Still, it surprised Bret to realize that Jerome Lewis' life appeared to be so out of control that he would take to – what? Threatening women with murder and shooting Bart? Why? What was it all about?

Emily looked at Bret and felt helpless. How could a person that seemed to be so changed, so different from the reputation that followed him, turn out to be everything people said about him? The Jerome Lewis Emily knew was a good man, a loving husband and father who'd turned his life around for the love of his wife and children – not the scum that stood before her holding a gun, having just shot one of the men trying to protect her from something or someone evil.

Lewis pointed the gun at Emily and pulled the hammer back. Then he looked directly at Bret and ordered, "Take the gun belt off and drop it on the floor. Push it over here when you're done. And dig the derringer out and drop it, too."

"I don't carry the derringer anymore." Bret unbuckled his gun belt and dropped it, then shoved it toward Lewis with his foot. After Jerome picked the gun belt up he motioned Bret over to the far side of the room.

"Get away from your brother – get over there with her." Emily had moved across the room, behind the bed Bart was lying on. Bret moved over to stand next to her.

"Now what, Lewis? What's this all about?"

"Shut up," is all Lewis had to say. He looked down at Bart, still unconscious, and removed Bart's gun from its holster. He shoved it in his waistband and then slowly let the hammer back down. He turned his attention back to Bret and Emily. "I suppose you want to know what this is all about. Fair enough. It's about enough money that I'll never have to play another game of poker again as long as I live. And Everett Mayhew was the only man that knew where it was."


	11. Chapter 11 Lady Luck Times Three

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 11 – Lady Luck Times Three

Emily Mayhew opened her mouth to protest, to deny that what Jerome Lewis had just told them was true. But if she thought about it, everything began to make sense. She'd always believed her mother and father were murdered; if they weren't, why did the house burn down when nothing around it burned? Why had they sent her to spend the summer with her aunt in New Orleans when they'd never done that before, and she didn't want to go? Why the treasure box, with the locket and cuff links, the watch and the letters?

"Did you murder them?" she asked instead, and an eerie smile spread over Jerome Lewis' face.

"No, Emily, I didn't murder them. Or have them murdered. The man that did that's dead. He was a Confederate General during the war and 'appropriated' some of the South's gold reserves for his own use. Right before the end of the war your father discovered where is was 'stored' and moved it. He told no one, but somehow the General found out who had it and threatened to kill the whole Mayhew family if Everett didn't turn it over. You know the rest of the story."

Bret asked the next question. "How did you find out about it, Lewis?"

"That was the easy part," the man holding them at gunpoint chuckled. "Everett got quite chatty when he was teaching you to cheat at cards. He let the first part slip one day and when I didn't show any unusual interest in the exact location all the details eventually made their way into our conversation. Except where it was buried."

Emily was angry. All the time she'd worked for Jerome Lewis and his family he was just biding his time until he could – what? Pry information out of her that she didn't have? What was he after?

Lewis could see her wheels turning and anticipated her next question. "Your father was a clever man. Somewhere in one of his letters to your mother he mentioned an object that held the next piece of the puzzle – the locket he'd given her. Inside the locket was a photo of the two of them together. On the back of the picture was the key to the next step in the puzzle – and the final location of the gold – and it was supposed to be inside your father's watch. Which wasn't in the box you kept everything else in. Where is it, Emily? Where's the watch?"

"I gave it to my aunt in New Orleans, a long time ago," she lied.

Lewis shook his head vehemently. "No you didn't," he told her. "You had the watch in St. Louis, right before you got on this ship. I saw it. Where's the watch, Emily?"

"Gone," she lied again. "I lost it."

He looked at her with pity. "Nope. I know you have it. Where is it, Emily?"

"I don't have it. I gave it to . . . . . . " she looked down at the man lying on the bed, unconscious and bleeding. " . . . . I gave it to Bart. I don't know where he put it."

The man with the gun smiled that same eerie smile and turned his attention and gun to Bret. "That should be easy enough then, shouldn't it Mr. Maverick? You two tell each other everything, don't you? Where's the watch?"

"I don't know, Mr. Lewis, my brother was shot before he had a chance to tell me." Bret never even blinked, just lied right to the man's face.

"I see. Then we'll just have to wake him up and ask him, won't we?" He waved Bret over to the bed with the gun. "Wake him up, Maverick."

Bret sat down on the bed, next to Bart's right shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to revive his brother to ask him a question that neither of them had the answer to. "Bart. Bart, wake up." He gave Bart's shoulder a slight shake but nothing happened.

"Try harder, Mr. Maverick."

Bret shook a little harder. "Bart. Bart, wake up." Still nothing.

"Get up and get back over by Emily," Lewis commanded. Bret got off the bed and moved back up against the wall with Emily. Jerome bent over Bart and grabbed his right shoulder and shook as hard as he could. "Maverick! Maverick, wake up!"

Bart moaned again in pain but didn't wake. Lewis reached for his left shoulder and shook the arm he'd been shot in. There was a yelp of pain from the bed and Bart's eyes opened partway. "Bret?" was barely whispered.

Lewis backed up and motioned Bret back to his brother's side. Unnoticed by Lewis, Bret shoved the derringer in its shoulder holster closer to the man he was trying to wake, then grabbed Bart's chin and shook his head from side to side until Bart moaned again. "Bartley Jamison Maverick, this is your brother. Stay with me." Bart's eyes closed and his breathing became ragged and forced. For all intents and purposes he was unconscious again. Bret just sat on the bed and thought _'Good boy.'_

"Get up, Maverick. I don't know what kind of little game the three of you are playing, but I'm done. You've got ten seconds to tell me where the watch is or I finish the job I started." Lewis turned his pistol on Bart. "Ten . . . nine . . . .eight . . . . seven . . . . six . . . . " he pulled the hammer back and aimed right at the heart, "five . . . . four . . . . .three . . . . ."

"STOP!" yelled Emily. "They don't know where it is. I've got it."

Lewis lowered the hammer on the gun. "Well, I should've tried that sooner. Yes, Miss Emily, just where is that watch?"

Jerome Lewis' eyes went from Bart to Emily, with the gun muzzle following his eyes. He made the mistake of assuming that the man lying motionless on the bed was still unconscious. Suddenly everything changed. In one swift movement Bart found the derringer with his right hand and pulled it out of its shoulder holster. Lewis saw the move too late, shifted the barrel of his gun back to the bed and fired, but the bullet missed its mark and went into the pillow. Bart fired twice and hit what he was aiming at both times. The card shark was astonished and mortally wounded. He collapsed on the bed, landing across Bart and his injured arm. The young gambler howled in pain and Bret rushed forward to pull the body off his brother. It wasn't quick enough for Bart, who was gritting his teeth and trying not to scream in agony. Emily collapsed on the floor, sobbing, and Bret finally got the dead weight off the bed as Bart choked and gasped for air.

"Easy, Bart, easy," he tried to calm his brother. Turning his attention elsewhere he asked, "Emily, are you alright?"

"Y-y-y-y-y-yes," she spluttered between sobs.

"I need you to get yourself together and go for the doctor."

"But . . . . he's . . . . . dead," she choked out.

"Not for him, Emily, for Bart," he reminded her.

"Of . . . course. Bart." Now she remembered her original task – fetch the doctor because Bart had been shot. She pulled herself to her feet and stumbled out of the room and into the hall. A moan from the man in bed brought him back to the present.

"Didn't . . . want . . . .to kill him," Bart choked out, still unable to breathe easily after the body fell on him.

"He's the one that shot you, isn't he?" Bret asked the question even though he knew the answer.

"Yeah." It certainly wasn't the first time he'd been shot, but it was one of the more painful.

"Then he got what he deserved." Bret looked at his brother's arm; it had started bleeding again when Lewis fell on it. He grasped Bart's right hand. "Hang on, Bart, doctor's on his way." How many times had he said those words, and how many more times would he have to say them? He looked at the shot from Lewis' gun that had been fired into the pillow. That was too close; another inch to the left and there would only be two Mavericks instead of three. They'd been lucky twice tonight, three times if you counted Sampson's reprieve. "I wasn't sure you got my message."

Calling him by his full name – a trick they only used when there was trouble. "Sure, I got it," Bart mumbled. "Wouldn't . . . . let . . . . you down," and with those words he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Bret gripped his brother's hand tightly. "You never do, little brother, you never do."


	12. Chapter 12 Coffee, Bullets and Bodies

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 12 – Coffee, Bullets and Bodies

This time Emily came back with the real ship's doctor, Byron Horton. Dr. Horton took one look at the gunshot wound and shook his head. "Well, it won't be pretty when I get done with it, Mr. Maverick. Bullet's still in there and its gotta come out. Probably need a couple stitches by the time I get through diggin' around to find it. Sorry. How's your brother do with pain?'

"What kind Doctor? The 'diggin' in his arm lookin' for it' or the 'gonna hurt long after the bullets out' kind?"

"Never heard it put like that before, but both, I guess."

Bret chuckled as he answered, "Better than I do, Doc. He's had plenty of stitches, he'll handle it."

"That your sister came to get me?"

"Emily? No, she's a . . . . .a client."

Doctor Horton talked while he was digging around in Bart's arm for the bullet. Bret stayed in the room just in case Bart came to while the doctor was busy. With no liquor and no aspirin to help, the only thing the doctor had was laudanum - or a strong brother to hold you down. Bart had once before made it clear he'd had enough of the laudanum and would rather face pain the hard way. Lady Luck stayed with him on this night and he didn't regain consciousness while the doctor was working.

Once the bullet was out and the stitches were in, Bret helped Doc Horton get the blood off his brother. "Bled an awful lot for a gun shot. Keep an eye on him – I'll be by tomorrow to take a look at things and change the bandage." The doctor shook his head and gave Bret a strange look. "What kind of business are you two in?" he asked. "He's awfully young to have so many scars."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Doc Horton left and Bret got Bart's boots off, then most of the rest of everything else. He pulled the blanket up and sat down gently on the edge of the bed. "How do we get into these things?" he asked out loud. "And why do you get hurt so much?" He gave that a minute's thought and then said "I guess I don't do a real good job of protecting you, do I?" He thought back to all the skinned knees and broken bones his little brother had and wondered if Bart was his own worst enemy. He seemed to attract trouble, and the older he got the worse it got. His penchant for saving 'damsels in distress' had gotten him into this mess. But he'd done nothing to get into the other problem he had – the three murders that still had to be solved. And time was getting short. Tomorrow night they'd be in Memphis.

He had to get some sleep. That's what he'd been about to do when he heard the moaning in the hallway. Thank God he'd checked to see what it was all about. Maybe things would stay quiet for a while and he could grab a few hours. Then Zeke Crawford needed to be found. He stood up from the bed and pulled a chair over. Taking off his own boots and pulling the other blanket around him, he sat down in the chair and put his feet on the end of the bed. He was so tired he could sleep anywhere. He closed his eyes for just a minute and then he did.

XXXXXXXX

Somebody was pounding on his head. That's what it felt like for a minute or two, and then it stopped. He'd just drifted back into sleep when he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a woman's voice calling him. "Bret, wake up. It's Emily. Captain Sampson wants to see you in the pilothouse." He groaned and opened one eye. Yep, it was Emily all right. What time was it? And how was his brother?

Bret opened the other eye and yawned. "What time?" he asked sleepily.

"Almost ten o'clock," she answered.

A little over four hours of sleep. Better than nothing. He threw the blanket back and sat forward in the chair, anxiously looking to see if Bart was awake. No such luck. Still sleeping like an angel. An angel with a hole in his arm. Well, no hole after Doctor Horton took stitches in it.

"Did they say what he wanted?"

Emily looked fine, how did women do it? "He wants an explanation for the body."

Oh, yeah, the body. Jerome Lewis, card cheat extraordinaire. Thief, liar, betrayer of trust, husband and father. Now there were two little girls with no daddy. Killed by his own greed, and two bullets courtesy of Bart Maverick and the pop gun that Bret had given him. It couldn't be helped, he reminded himself as he looked down at Bart's sleeping form. Lewis had tried to kill his brother twice in the same night and it was only through subterfuge and the grace of God that he was unsuccessful both times. _'Don't forget that,'_ he reminded himself.

He reached up with his hand to rub his chin and felt stubble. _'Gotta shave,_' was his next thought, then, _'Gotta change clothes,_' quickly followed. He turned to Emily, who was still standing there watching him. "Can you stay here while I go take care of some things?" he asked. "Soon as Sampson's down to a dull roar I'll be back and you can go to breakfast."

She laid her hand back on his shoulder. "Whatever you need," she told him, then quickly corrected herself, "Whatever you both need."

His mind started working and he remembered all the ugly, nasty truth that Emily had heard this morning for the first time. "Will you be alright until I'm back? We can talk then."

She nodded her head. Sweet of him to think of her emotional pain when his brother was all but dead last night, thanks to Jerome Lewis. "I'll be fine," was her answer, almost as glib as his brother's 'Sure.' "Better get going, I don't think the Captain has much in the way of patience."

He reached up and squeezed her hand, then picked his boots up from the floor and stood up. "Take good care of him, please," he directed to her before leaving the room and walking through the sitting area back to what had started out as his room. There was no reason for Emily to stay with them any longer, but it was kind of nice to have her around and if she felt more comfortable here than in her own room she was welcome, as long as she wanted.

After a shave and a change of clothes Bret set out for the pilothouse, anticipating a long and arduous meeting with Captain Sampson. The thought crossed his mind that Sampson must have a first name but Bret had no idea what it was. 'Captain', perhaps? The thought made him smile, and he was still smiling when he entered the pilothouse. Sampson was just giving a steward the directions for the disposition of the newest body on board and waved Bret over to a chair. Once the steward departed he turned his attention to the gambler. "You look like you could use some coffee, Mr. Maverick."

Sampson seemed to be in a reasonable mood this morning, considering that he'd just had to deal with body number four. "That I could, Captain. Do you have any?"

The captain stepped over to a small desk, picked up a bell sitting there and rang it. In just a minute another steward, this one very young, opened the door and asked "Yes, Captain?"

"Bring us some coffee, would you, Tim?"

Bret's curiosity was immediately peaked. "Is that Tim Jameson?"

Samson nodded ascent. "Yes, and he's a fine lad. Quick and sharp-witted. He'll go far with this ship."

That answered Bret's quest for new hire number two. Fred Dabner was correct – Jameson wasn't the man he was looking for. In less than five minutes the young man was back with two steaming mugs of coffee and Bret took his gratefully. "Thanks."

"Mr. Maverick, I have body number four on my hands. I understand you have an explanation for this one?" The Captain's tone was light and inquisitive rather than dark and accusing.

"Self-defense on Jerome Lewis, Captain. He was going to kill all three of us."

"You, your brother and Miss Mayhew?"

"That's right. He tried to kill Bart twice. Once on the second deck, once in our stateroom. Any questions?"

"Just one, Mr. Maverick. Do you and your brother always have people trying to kill you? Besides poker players that have lost to you, I mean."

Bret shook his head as he took another sip of his coffee. He was starting to wake up, finally. "Not usually. This is the man that was after Miss Mayhew. Nothing to do with us, really."

"Some background, please."

"Jerome Lewis was Emily's former employer. He had some inside information about something she knew nothing about. He got greedy. That's about all. His wife and daughters are back in St. Louis."

The captain changed topics on him. "How's your search for the other killer coming?"

Bret couldn't tell if Sampson was seriously asking him or just trying to get information before they got to Memphis. "Two down, one to go."

"Does the missing man happen to be Zeke Crawford, by any chance?"

Bret sat up straight in his chair. "Yes, it is Crawford. Do you know something I don't?"

Captain Sampson nodded. Was that the hint of a smile on his face? "No, I never met the man. He was hired by the ships on shore manager, Sam Merton. I wouldn't know him if I saw him."

"So I'm still looking for a needle in a haystack?"

"It would appear so. I wish you luck, Mr. Maverick. I know how close you and your brother are. For your sake I hope you're correct and he really is innocent." He paused and then added, "We'll be in Memphis tomorrow night, you know."

"I'm well aware of that. It'll all be straightened out by that time." Bret was finished with his coffee and stood to go. "Someone's waiting for me."

"Miss Mayhew?"

Bret just smiled. "Could be. Captain." He tipped his hat and left the pilothouse. So Sampson didn't know what Zeke Crawford looked like? How convenient. He hurried back to the stateroom. He was hungry but the coffee would have to do for now; Emily had been up for hours and he'd promised to relieve her so she could get some breakfast first.


	13. Chapter 13 Eggs, Toast & a Side

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 13 – Eggs, Toast and a Side of Crawford

Emily had just come back to Bart's room when he finally began to stir. She sat down and waited to see if he actually woke up before Bret came back.

He moaned and tried to roll over onto his left side and quickly discovered it hurt. She watched his eyes open and look up at her before she gave him a big smile. What he returned could at best be described as a scowl. "Good morning, Mr. Maverick. Welcome back among the living."

"Owwwwwwwww," was the best he could manage.

"You may have noticed that," she proceeded to tell him. "The good news is there's only one and it's stitched up. The bad news is there's one and it's stitched up."

"You've spent too much time around my brother," was his rejoinder, barely above a whisper.

"Do you want some water?" she asked.

"Want? No. Need? Yes."

She had a glass ready and waiting for him. He took it from her with his right hand but he wasn't steady and she helped him hold on to it while he drank. "Better?" when he was through.

"Better. Bret?"

"Went to see Captain Sampson."

Bart made an ugly face. No one could blame him at this point; Sampson was not his favorite person in the world. "Long?"

She smiled at his shortened questions. "No, he hasn't been gone too long."

"You okay?"

Her smile stayed in place. The first thing he asked about was his brother, the second thing was her. His own personal list of priorities. "I'm fine," she answered.

He attempted to shake his head. "No. Not buyin' that."

Her response was quick and decisive. "No, really. I've reconciled myself to what happened. At least I have answers to some of my questions."

"Momma and daddy?"

She wasn't sure what he was asking, so she tried to answer whatever it was he wanted to know. "Murdered. Just like I thought. By a man that's dead, according to Lewis. They sent me to my aunt that summer to keep me safe. Lewis said there was some Confederate gold involved, but who knows if he was telling the truth or not. It's all so long ago. At least I know I'm safe now."

He reached out with his right hand and took hold of hers. "Yes. Important."

She squeezed his hand and held onto it. "You took a bullet instead of me."

There was no doubt in his eyes as he answered her. "No. Wouldn't have shot you."

"Yes, I think he would have. You didn't see him, or hear him, when he was here. He threatened to kill you if I didn't give him what he was looking for."

"Did you?"

She shook her head. "No, I still have it. Thanks to you. You're the one that killed him, you know. Do you remember?"

"Yep." He was still for a moment and when he spoke again his voice was filled with regret. "Didn't want to."

"Yes, but you had to. You saved our lives. Mine and Bret's. I won't forget that."

He snorted, a quarter laugh. "Bret will."

"Bret never forgets anything."

"Convenient."

She looked at him quizzically. "I'm not quite sure how you mean that. You'll have to explain when you're feeling better."

"I will."

"Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat."

Then he said the one word she expected to hear. "Coffee."

Emily let loose with a laugh that would rattle the walls. "Why did I know that was coming? None today, mister. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow."

He did his best to frown at her. "Need coffee."

"I'll make a deal with you. I'll let you have one cup of coffee if you'll eat some eggs and toast."

"Deal." He jumped at the chance for coffee.

She heard the stateroom door open and told Bart, "Bret must be back. Let me go see how things are and then one of us will come back. And I'll get you eggs, toast, and ONE cup of coffee."

He smiled at her, both with his mouth and his eyes, and she touched his cheek. "Thank you for giving me back my life." Before she left the room she bent down and kissed the part of his face that she'd just touched.

"Em. How is he?" Bret asked her as soon as he got in the door.

"Awake. Alive. Hungry."

"Wait – are we talking about my brother? Hungry?"

"I traded him eggs and toast for a cup of coffee."

Bret roared with laughter. "Is that all it took? You got him to agree to eat if you gave him coffee?'

She nodded her head and laughed herself. "Yes, that's all it took. I'm going to get everything before he changes his mind."

He caught her by the arm and implored her, "Stay and eat before you come back. I'll sit with him."

She stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, too. Midway there she changed her mind and kissed him on the mouth. He was startled by the kiss, but not so startled that he didn't kiss her back. She was beautiful and sweet and willing. They broke apart and she left the room. He stood there looking at the closed door.

What was that? He shook his head, as if to clear his senses, and went into Bart's room.

XXXXXXXX

It was a simple telegram:

_Task accomplished._

_Will be arrested Memphis._

_Frank_

Marcus would know exactly what it meant. He could escape the Belle at Memphis too, and no one would be the wiser. All had gone smoothly, and just as planned. Maverick would be arrested and by the time everything got straightened out the deadline would have passed and that den of iniquity in Montana would be closed for good.

XXXXXXXX

His eyes were closed but that didn't mean he was asleep. As soon as he heard someone coming in he opened them, hoping it was Emily with his coffee. It was his brother. Bret sat down and examined his fingernails. Bart tried to clear his throat to get his brother's attention but that didn't work. "Bret." No response. "Bret." Still no response. "BRET." That was as loud as he could say it. Finally Bret looked at him.

"Bart! You're awake. How's the arm feel?"

"Terrible. Where were you?"

"At the pilothouse with Captain Sampson."

That wasn't what he meant. "Just now."

"Hmmmmm? Oh, thinking about something. Em went to get you some food. And coffee."

"Em?"

"Emily. How's your arm feeling?"

"Asked and answered."

"Oh. Yeah, you're right. Sorry. Sampson's alright with the way we handled Jerome Lewis."

"We?"

"You. He's got no problem with it."

"Now what?"

"When Emily gets back I resume the search for Zack Crawford. Somebody has to know where he is."

"He's all that's left?" Bart sounded disappointed that Bret had eliminated two-thirds of their suspect pool so quickly.

"Yep. He's all that's left. I'll find him. I've got to find him."

"Can't sit in jail again." There was fear with a tinge of desperation in Bart's voice.

"You won't. I'll find him."

"What if – " he was immediately interrupted by his brother.

"Don't go there, Bart. I told you, we'll find a way out of this. You're not going to jail."

Now the presiding emotion was resignation. "Hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right. Except when I'm not. But I'm right this time."

Bart sighed. Wherever Bret's mind was, it wasn't here with him. Out of nowhere there was a pounding on the door that they both heard. What now? Bret got up and left Bart wondering who was after him this time.

He was pleasantly surprised when Emily entered the room, carrying a tray that was loaded down with food and three cups of coffee. She'd convinced one of the dining salon servers to let her take breakfast back to the room just this once. "Bret, bring the pillows from the other room in here so Bart can sit up like a human and eat."

Bret disappeared, presumably to retrieve the pillows. Emily set the tray down on the chair and seated herself on the floor. She handed Bart a piece of toast and when he made another face at her she refused to give him the coffee cup. He ate the toast and Emily smiled.

Bret returned with the pillows and they got down to business. Soon all the food was eaten and Emily gave Bart his reward – the precious coffee. His arm hurt like hell but no one was going to deprive him of his coffee.

Bret and Emily sat on the floor and Bart lay in the bed while they formed a rational plan for trying to locate Zeke Crawford. Bart noticed that Bret kept stealing glances at Emily and wondered just what was going on. Emily acted no differently than she had before. Bart laid partially propped up on the bed and watched Emily talk about her family. He hadn't paid much attention to how really pretty she was; now he studied her closely and noticed little things he hadn't seen before. What a brilliant blue her eyes were, like the sky on a spring morning; the way her long, luxurious eyelashes curled up to meet the burnished copper of her hair; how she looked you right in the eye when she talked to you; the little creases at the corners of her mouth that turned up when she smiled. For some reason he looked over at Bret and saw him looking at her the same way, studying her features and her gestures as if seeing her for the first time. Bart watched his brother watch her and knew it was a hopeless cause – he stood a snowballs chance in hell of gaining her attention if Brother Bret was interested, too.

Nobody could charm like Bret Maverick. When he smiled, focusing all that attention and those dimples on a girl, no one in the same county had any hope of the girl even knowing they were alive. More women had suffered broken hearts over his brother than he could count. If Bret was smitten Bart knew enough to back away before he became smitten too. And from the look on his face, Bret was smitten.

Bart tried to pay attention to everything Emily was saying, but it soon became apparent that he couldn't stay awake. He closed his eyes, just for a minute, and drifted right back into the sleep of the painfully wounded. Emily soon noticed and quit talking. Bret saw it too, and he helped Emily off the floor and then picked up the tray with the empty dishes and carried it out of Bart's room, closing the door behind him. "At least you got some food into him," he remarked before setting the tray down. "That's a major accomplishment with that boy."

"Why do you always sound like his father when you talk about him? There can't be that much difference in your ages."

Bret looked in Emily's direction but not right at her. "There isn't. Only two years. Maybe because he was so sick as a little boy; if there was anything going around Bart caught it. Then when Momma died, he was still so young. Pappy was miserable and couldn't be much help for a while, so he was my responsibility. When he was sick or injured I took care of him. When somebody hurt him I defended him. And it was me he ran to in the middle of the night when the night terrors got him. Then when we weren't together for a while he got into a mess he needed help with and I wasn't there to help him. He turned to somebody else to get him out of that mess, and they did, but got him into an even worse situation. I almost lost him; spent almost six months lookin' for him with no luck. Then one day he just rode into the town I was playin' poker in. I've tried to stick close ever since. We still go our separate ways now and then, but not as much as we used to. And I always know where he is. If he needs me I'm there." He stopped for a moment and then added something else, lest it sound like he was Bart Maverick's personal savior. "And vice versa, of course." Denver quickly came to mind; he'd be long since dead if it hadn't been for Bart.

Emily nodded her head. "I think it's sweet," she told him. "It's almost like he's got his own personal guardian angel." She linked arms with Bret and took him over to the settee where she sat down and he sat beside her. Soon she was snuggled under his arm while resting her head on his shoulder. They sat that way for almost twenty minutes and he started to doze. Just as he was about to fall asleep there was a knock on the stateroom door. Bad timing on whoever's part. Bret got up to answer the door to another of Captain Sampson's many ships stewards. "Sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Maverick, but Captain Sampson needs to see you up on the texas right away."

"What is it now?" Bret asked. He wanted to know before going anywhere.

"Got another body, Mr. Maverick. Zeke Crawford's dead."


	14. Chapter 14 Sing Me a Lullaby

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 14 – Sing Me a Lullaby

"How? Where? When?" Those were the first three words out of Bret Maverick's mouth when he got to the texas deck of the ship and confronted Captain Sampson.

By now nothing that either of the Maverick brothers said or did surprised the captain. "The first two are easy. The third, not so much." He paused for affect, then gave Bret the answers. "Shot at close range with a derringer. Like the one your brother killed Jerome Lewis with. We found his body down on the lower deck, in the storage area. Isn't that where you chased Emily Mayhew's attacker? When is the question I can't answer. When would that be, Mr. Maverick?"

"What are you implying, Sampson? That I killed Zeke Crawford? Why would I do that when I was trying to clear my brother's name?" Now Bret understood why Bart didn't like the man. He had an unpleasant way of twisting nothing into something.

"I don't know, Mr. Maverick. None of this has made any sense from the very beginning. Come with me, I want to know if you can identify the body as the man you chased away from the Mayhew girl."

Bret followed Captain Sampson to the lower deck storage area. He hadn't been anywhere near this since the first night they were on the Belle. Way back in the corner, where it was dark and dank, lay the body of a man. He was dressed in the crisp white uniform of the ship's stewards and looked like he was peacefully sleeping, save for the two small bullet holes complete with powder burns right where his heart would be. He had sandy blond hair and was in his mid-twenties. It was the man Bret chased down here that first night and hadn't been able to locate since. Now it made sense, how Crawford could wind his way through the crates and boxes and lose Bret in the process; he knew where everything was located. "That's him, Captain. That's the man I chased." He looked back at the captain, who was watching him closely. "Now what?"

Sampson casually shrugged his shoulders. He had four murders on his hands and two suspects – both named Maverick. 'Now what' was a good question, and he didn't have any answers. He should lock them both up and see if the murders stopped. But lock them up where? And lock them up how? His head hurt, and he had a ship to run. "I don't know, Mr. Maverick," was the best answer he could give.

Bret saw the look on Sampson's face and could figure out what he was thinking. He was looking for murderers and he had two Mavericks to blame. Memphis was way too close to be standing here getting nowhere, and nowhere is exactly where both he and Bart would be if something didn't happen to point the Captain's attention in a different direction. "Have you got any other missing employees?" Bret was grasping at straws but needed something to divert Sampson's attention from the path it was on.

"Not that I'm aware of," was the reply given. That left the door open just a tiny crack and Bret seized the opportunity.

"Don't you think you should find out for sure?" One simple question set the wheels turning in the Captain's head. What if Maverick was correct and there was another Belle employee involved? The possibility, though remote, had to be explored. And it would give Sampson a reason for allowing his chief suspects to remain free and unfettered.

"Alright, I'll do an employee check and see if we're missing anyone. In the meantime, please don't plan on doing anything like jumping ship and trying to escape."

"Why would I leave, Captain? Our stateroom is already paid for!" Bret sighed with relief. He'd just bought some time – enough for he and Bart to find out what was really going on? _'Leisure time is over, Brother Bart. Pain or no pain, I need your help._' He faced Sampson with the next question. "Is there anything else, Captain? I'd like to get back to my brother."

The captain shook his head 'no.' He'd given up. "No, Mr. Maverick, that's all for now. I know where to find you if I need you." And just to make sure both Mavericks stayed put, Sampson stationed another steward out of sight where he could keep an eye on them.

Bret needed a sounding board. He hoped Bart was feeling well enough to help or both brothers might be forced into a jail cell in Memphis.

XXXXXXXX

"What are you going to do now?"

That had been Emily's first question when Bret got done telling her about the latest developments with Captain Sampson and the ever-increasing body count. The only answer he had for her wasn't helpful or informative. "I don't know. Have you heard anything from Bart since I left?"

"Not a sound. I went in there just a few minutes ago and he's still asleep."

Not a happy development. "I'm afraid his recuperative time is over," Bret stated matter-of-factly. "There's got to be something I'm not seeing. I need Bart's perspective."

"Somebody send for me?" Propped up against the door to his room stood Bart, left arm in a sling, looking better at this exact moment than Bret did. At least he'd had some sleep.

Bret started to say something and Bart put up his hand. "Too late to tell me to go back to bed. I already heard you say you needed my perspective. Now what's gone wrong?"

Emily jumped up and practically ran over to Bart, still leaning against the open bedroom door. "You shouldn't be out of bed," she chastised him. "You lost too much blood."

He looked down at her and smirked. "Then get me over to the settee, before I pass out."

Emily turned into a human crutch and helped him over to the sitting room. By the time she got Bart there he looked exhausted, but Bret knew better than to question his brother's motivation. Bart smiled brightly at his brother to cover up the pain shooting up and down his arm and through his whole body.

"What has somebody else gotten us into now?"

"Zeke Crawford is dead. Shot through the heart with a derringer." Bret wasn't trying to be dramatic, but he let that sink in for a minute before continuing. "Guess who's Captain Sampson's newest suspect?"

"Let's see – would his name be Maverick by any chance?"

Emily injected herself into this conversation. "How can both of you be so flippant about all this?"

"What else are we gonna do? Somebody's killin' people and we're gettin' blamed for it!" Bret responded.

"We?" questioned his brother.

"Yeah, we. Sampson wants to pin the latest one on me because I chased Crawford that first night."

"How does he explain me having the gun?" Bart wondered.

"He hasn't so far. I guess he figures we just murder people and pass the weapons back and forth."

"Sure. When did Crawford disappear?"

Emily turned to Bret for an answer, too. "Don't know. I was following somebody around the ship when you got shot – if it wasn't him they were using his name – so sometime in the last twenty four hours. NOT days ago, like Sampson wants to believe."

"Then it seems reasonable that there's another killer on board," Bart speculated.

"Yeah, seems so." It was a conclusion none of them were happy about.

The three sat in silence for a few minutes; Bret speculating, Bart trying not to wince with pain, and Emily totally confused. What did it all mean, and what did any of it have to do with the bank in Montana?

Finally Bret had an idea. "Didn't they deliver mail to the ship right before we left St. Louis?"

Emily responded. "I know they did – I saw it arrive as I was boarding. Why?"

Bret turned to Bart, who was trying once again to hide the pain and dizziness he was feeling from being up too fast and too soon. "Brother Bart, how long has it been since you've heard from Jody?"

"Months. Why?"

"Did she know where you were headed?"

"I wrote and told her we were on the Belle for this trip. What are you thinking?"

"What if there's a letter explaining this whole thing that never got delivered?"

"But how?" Emily asked.

"The mail is handed out by the ship's stewards, right?'

"Right." Bart was beginning to see where Bret was headed with this.

"Zeke Crawford was a steward."

"Who might have intercepted Jody's letter?"

A look of satisfaction planted itself on Bret's face. "Right."

"I think it's time to go collect the mail, Brother Bret."

"I think you're right, Brother Bart." Bret got up from the sofa and went to the door, ready to go back to the texas deck and see what he could find. He opened it, took a look down the hall, and closed it again. "We're being watched. By Sampson, no doubt."

Emily popped up from the settee. "I can go. They'll give it to me, won't they?"

Bret turned back and smiled at her. "Em, they'd give you anything you asked for."

Bart winced. His arm hurt, his head hurt, and the thought of spending time in jail was again dancing around inside him. It was not a pleasant thought. Now that Emily had left the room he allowed himself to sag down into the sofa, wishing he'd not put on a brave front and gotten out of bed.

"Bart – are you alright?" Bret was becoming increasingly concerned by how pale his brother looked. "Let's get you back into bed, son."

The younger gambler didn't feel good enough to argue. "Sure," was about all he could manage to say, and he put up no resistance at all when Bret wrapped Bart's good arm around his neck and half-carried him back to bed.

"Told you not to get up," Bret muttered under his breath as he lowered Bart onto the bed.

"No, you didn't," Bart mumbled back, never willing to lose a bet or an argument. "Em did."

Bret realized that Bart had caught his affectionate term for the Mayhew girl. Little brother wasn't unaware of the attraction, then. Bret sat down at his brother's bedside and pulled the blanket up around him. "Don't need to be tucked in," Bart muttered through clenched teeth. "Need the pain to go away."

"Shouldn't have gotten up," Bret reiterated.

"You needed me," his brother mumbled back.

"I need you well, not half dead because you're stubborn. Are you sure you weren't born in Missouri?"

"Ha! That hurts. No. Texas. You know that."

"Go to sleep, Bart, I'm sending Emily for Doc Horton when she comes back."

"Sure."

'_Hurry back, Em'_ Bret thought_. 'He's not as good as he pretends.'_


	15. Chapter 15 The Picture is the Key

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 15 – The Picture is the Key

"They looked everywhere, Bret, there just wasn't any mail for either of you."

'_Wait a minute,'_ he thought before saying it out loud. _'It's not gonna be there. Zeke would have taken it.'_

"Emily, go get Doc Horton. I had to help Bart back to bed. When you come back I've got somewhere else to look."

She nodded and left again. It was only a few minutes before she returned with the doctor in tow. He looked none the worse for having been up before five o'clock this morning.

"Mr. Maverick. I understand our wounded man was up out of bed when he shouldn't have been?"

He nodded in agreement. "I think perhaps you might want to refer to him as the 'wounded mule,' Bret offered. "Stubborn through and through."

"Now, now, son, we all have our faults. Stubborn isn't the worst thing to be."

"It is when you live with it."

Doctor Horton went in to check the wound and re-dress it. Bret went with him and Doc once again talked the entire time he was working. Bart was awake through most of the exam and let out a yelp or two when it came time to change the bandage; sometime since the original stitches were taken there had been some minor bleeding and it stuck to the old bandage. Doctor Horton seemed a little concerned that the wound might be working on an infection; there was some minor swelling and he wanted to keep an eye on things. "You're not doin' yourself any favors by getting' up and waltzin' around in here, son. You lost an awful lot of blood last night and you should rest for at least a couple days. From what your brother tells me you're not the type of man to pay attention to those instructions, so I'm tellin' you right now that if you don't you could end up a whole lot sicker than you are now."

Bart nodded and looked solemn, giving the doctor that sad eyed look that he used when he was trying to pull the wool over somebody's eyes. Doc Horton just laughed. "That won't work on me, son. I raised four kids of my own, I know that look. That means you're gonna do whatever you want as soon as I leave. Try to take it easy."

"Water?" Bart asked.

"Say, that's a good idea," said the doctor. He went over to the water pitcher on the dresser and poured a glass. Just then Emily called out, "Bret, there's a steward here to see you." Bret excused himself and went to discover what kind of trouble they were in now. He was pleasantly surprised that Captain Sampson had sent a box of Zeke Crawford's belongings over for him to examine; he wasn't sure if the captain believed in his innocence or just wanted to get everything over as fast as possible. He set the box down and went back in to Bart's room; Doctor Horton was just helping to lift Bart's head so he could drink. Bart took three or four swallows of water and then pulled away from the glass; something was wrong.

"Something in there, Doc?" he asked. "It doesn't taste right."

"Just some crushed up aspirin, son. Nothin' else."

"Aspirin?" Bret practically yelled. He grabbed the glass out of Doc Horton's hands and set it down abruptly on the dresser. "We think he's developed a reaction to aspirin, Doc. And not a good one." He turned to Bart quickly. "How much did you drink?"

"Not much," came the answer. "Just a few swallows."

Doc shook his head. "I'm sorry. Aspirin allergy is so rare – we never think about it. Chills, fever, headaches – what?"

Bret answered quietly, "Convulsions. Seizures. Very, very bad. Was that enough to trigger it?"

"I honestly don't know. If he reacts that badly to it, could be. If somethin's gonna happen it'll be fairly quick – it's in his system right now. Nothin' to be done but wait and see."

The box holding Crawford's belongings was forgotten – the only thing on Bret's mind was his brother's reaction to the medicine – nothing else mattered.

Doctor Horton stayed in the room, feeling awful and totally responsible for what might come. Bret sat by Bart's bedside, waiting and watching for any change, anything different to happen. Bart lay in bed, with his eyes closed, wondering if he was going to live or die. Or – what? Time passed ever so slowly, and gradually Bart's head began to hurt – but whether it was from lying in bed so much or reacting to something in his system, he couldn't tell. Before it always felt like his head was going to explode. Pressure and pain started to build and kept getting worse until he couldn't take anymore – and then everything would go black and he would just be gone somewhere. It didn't happen this time. His head still hurt, but the crescendo of agony that dogged him like a bad poker hand didn't arrive. He realized he'd been lying there with his eyes tightly closed, waiting. He finally opened them and the first thing he saw was Bret anxiously watching him, worry all over his face. Poor Bret, his substitute father, the brother who'd always been there to take care of him, scared to death once again. Bart reached out with his right hand and touched Bret's knee. "It's alright," he whispered. "It's just a headache – nothing more."

Relief washed over Bret like a wave. Like Bart must have felt as he stood on the third step of the gallows and knew that he'd been saved from hanging. Like Pappy must have felt knowing his boy was safe. Bret grabbed Bart's hand and held it in his own. "You sure?"

"Sure." Bart's favorite word, and Bret had never been so happy to hear it in his whole life.

XXXXXXXX

The doctor had finally departed, and Bart had gone back to sleep with strict orders to stay in bed and rest for at least another day. After the scare he'd had he just might. Bret and Emily were back in the sitting room, slowly looking at the pitiful pile of things that had been in the box – the sum total of Zeke Crawford's life. A broken pocket watch. A straight razor. A string tie and a pair of arm garters. A photograph that looked older than Zeke, of a very plain woman holding two small children and trying to smile. Zeke's mother, no doubt. Affixed to the back of the photo was a small gold key, the kind that locked or unlocked smaller wooden boxes. No papers, no letters, no books or magazines, and nothing that didn't belong to him. Just the key. What did it unlock? Where would it lead them? And where could they start looking for the lock it fit?

Then the thought occurred to Bret – these were Zeke's personal items from his room. Did he have any place to store things? Any kind of shelf or space to keep a locked box? Somewhere that all the other stewards had space, too? In or near the crew's quarters?

Bret knew he was going to have to go visit his 'friend' Captain Sampson and find out. First, he decided, he needed supper. Or something that passed for supper. With Bart sleeping, he and Emily could go sit down in the dining salon and have a decent meal, bringing something back for his brother. And coffee, his beloved coffee. After the traumas of this day, Bret was not going to let anyone deny Bart coffee.

Emily checked on Bart one more time before they left for the salon and he was fast asleep. Bret escorted her down the hallway and past the steward that Sampson had posted; Emily waved merrily to the man as they walked by him. Bret had no idea what he ate; he just knew it was food and it satisfied his stomach. They got coffee and turkey soup for Bart; Emily would help him eat while Bret went to see Sampson. He carried the tray with Bart's supper and Emily carried the coffee. This time she couldn't wave to the steward, who looked mightily disappointed.

Once settled Bret left the stateroom, once again headed for Sampson's office. He took the box of Zeke Crawford's belongings with him to return to the captain. The office was empty, so Bret walked back to the pilothouse. He found the captain there and began asking questions before Sampson had a chance to question him. "Is there a storage facility or shelf or any place to have personal items, Captain? Someplace a crew member could keep a small locked box?"

The captain thought for a minute and then gave Bret the answer he'd been hoping for. "Yes, Mr. Maverick, there is. There's a locked cabinet that I have the keys to – Mr. Crawford would have been able to keep items of a personal nature there. I forgot all about that because I'm required so rarely to open it. Do you wish to investigate that now?"

"I do, Captain, with all due haste. I'm looking for something this might fit," he answered, holding up the gold key. They made their way to the crew's quarters and found the locked cabinet. Captain Sampson opened it and Bret began his search. There were all sizes and shapes boxes and containers, most holding nothing more than accumulated junk. On the very back of the third shelf, almost hidden from view by a larger brown chest of some sort, sat a relatively small wooden box with a gold lock on it. Just the right size for the small gold key. Bret retrieved the box and made sure it was a match to the key before removing it. "Do you mind if I borrow this?" he asked Sampson, and then turned on his heels and left without waiting for an answer.

Back to the stateroom he went, box and key in hand, and locked the door behind him once inside. Emily was just exiting Bart's room with the decimated looking tray in her hands. "How'd he do?"

"Surprisingly well, especially for him. Once he realized I had coffee for him he was willing to eat just about anything to get to it. How did your meeting go?"

Bret held up the wooden box. "Here's hoping. Let's go see." He and Emily walked to the sitting area and placed the box on the table between the settees. He was surprised to find his hands shaking slightly. That was a first. After all the tension filled poker games he's been through. Maybe because so much depended on this – ultimately their lives?

There was precious little in the box – one cuff link, another string tie, five thousand dollars in what was probably blood money – and then he saw it. A small envelope, in a feminine handwriting, addressed to 'Bartley Maverick.' He recognized the handwriting from the letters that Bart had shared with him – it was from Jody Mayfield.


	16. Chapter 16 Broken

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 16 – Broken

_Dearest Bartley – I hope you're much better then you were the last time I heard from you. You have to learn to quit trying to help people – it just gets you hurt in the end._

_So much has happened here since you and Bret left. A preacher came to town – named Marcus Hook. I don't like to speak badly of people but the man is the devil incarnate. He riled up the town until he got a law passed outlawing ALL new saloons. The ones still open were allowed to stay, so I thought we were safe. One by one he and his 'flock' have either bought up or closed down everything that remained, and I guess it is our turn now. He's filed a lawsuit saying that the new law should apply to us, too, and the only way I can fight him is to take him to court. Legally only the majority owner can sue, and I have never bothered to have you sign a Deed of Transfer – so I am not the legal owner. I've been trying to track you down for a while but always seem to be one step behind._

_I am sending this to you in care of the 'Mississippi Bayou Belle,' where I understand you and Bret will be for a while. I hope this letter reaches you and explains why the Montana Savings and Loan sent Mr. Mason and Mr. Grant to get your signature on the Deed of Transfer. Please sign it as quickly as possible – I know it's only a formality and I wouldn't care if it weren't for Mr. Hook. I can beat him in court, Bart – but I'm running out of time. If I don't file a suit within sixty days the saloon is lost._

_Please take better care of yourself – I may need you sooner than I expected. Things have gotten quite serious with Travis Cole and it looks like I will need that walk down the aisle sooner rather than later. I'll tell you more after this whole mess is settled._

_By the way, and just so you know, mama and Beau have broken their engagement. Mama's decision, not Beau's. He seemed quite distraught and left town for a while. Said he'd be back next summer. We'll see – I hope so. _

_Please help me save this part of the Maverick heritage. I love you and want nothing but the best for you always – _

_Your sister,_

_Jody Mayfield Maverick_

Bart handed the letter to Bret once he'd finished reading it. It made him happy and it made him sad; but at least now he understood part of it. There were still myriads of questions – what happened to the Deed of Transfer that Grant and Mason had when they arrived? Why kill them and Deputy Finch and try to frame Bart for the murders? Was the five thousand dollars that Crawford had his payment for the job? And who killed Zeke?

Bret folded the letter and returned it to its envelope, which he handed back to Bart. He looked at his brother, more puzzled than anything. "Leaves a lot unanswered," he remarked.

"Yeah, it sure does," was Bart's response. "Who's this Marcus Hook character? If he's really a Man of God, what's he doin' having people killed? And who's really doin' the killing?"

"Well, all that too, sure," Bret had a look in his eyes. "What happened between Beau and Georgia? He was dead set on marrying the woman."

"That's a question for our Cousin," Bart answered. "I'm more concerned about the here and now. What's gonna happen here now that we know what's goin' on?"

"First thing is to find out where the Deed of Transfer went. Most likely the river. Then we need to know who killed Zeke Crawford so you're not next. Guess I have to go see our old friend Sampson again."

"Sorry," Bart responded. "At least we've got part of the answers now. Wish I could help but you heard the doctor." He grinned at Bret and then made the mistake of trying to get more comfortable in the bed. "Ow, ow, ow."

"Careful there, son. You've done your share; you took the bullet. Let's see what I can do with the information we finally got from Jody. Do you need Em for anything right now?"

There it was again, that nickname. "No, Brother Bret, I don't need Emily for anything. I'm goin' back to sleep. You ought to try that sometime. You might like it."

"Horses a– never mind." He'd love to get some sleep, but it never seemed to happen. "Then I'm takin' her with me. Maybe she can find out something I can't."

"Bret – seriously – be careful."

"I will, Bart. Keep this, just in case." He handed Bart a derringer, fully loaded.

His brother seemed surprised. "I thought you turned this over to the captain."

Bret smiled. "Always keep a spare."

XXXXXXXX

Captain Sampson looked up from his desk and his heart sank. Bret Maverick. Again. When this trip was over he sincerely hoped he would never again hear the name 'Maverick' as long as he lived. "Yes, Mr. Maverick? What do you need now?" he asked pleasantly

"First, captain, to return this." Bret set the wooden box and the key down on the desk. "Second, to thank you for letting me exam everything. Third, to ask you another question."

"And what would that be?"

"Did Mr. Grant or Mr. Mason have any papers on them? Papers to be signed? A Deed of Transfer, to be exact?"

"No, nothing like that."

"What about in their personal possessions?"

"They didn't have any personal possessions."

"Really?" Bret asked. "No clothing, no papers, nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing, I assure you."

"And what about the Deputy?"

Captain Sampson wondered what Maverick was after now. "Maybe. He did have saddlebags on him. We still have them. Do you want to see his belongings?"

Bret nodded. "Very much, Captain. Thank you."

At least he didn't have to go far for this one. Sampson got up from his desk and walked over to another locked cabinet only he had a key to. Once open he found the deputies saddlebags and brought them out. One side had been checked for identification but the other side had remained untouched. As he had with everything else, Sampson handed the saddlebags to Bret.

And as he had with everything Sampson 'gave' him, Bret took the saddlebags and left for the Maverick stateroom. As he and Emily walked back to the room he noticed that she was awfully quiet. "Something wrong, Em?" he finally asked her.

"I'm not sure. Remember what Mr. Lewis said about the location of the gold being inside Daddy's watch?"

"Yeah. Was it?"

"I don't know. I found something in there but it doesn't make any sense to me."

He stopped in the middle of the hall and looked down at her. "Why didn't you say something?"

She persuaded him to keep walking. "You're so busy – you've got enough to worry about."

He shook his head and laughed. "Em, I'm not the Maverick that worries. I leave that to Brother Bart. What did you find?"

"I found a paper that said had something written on it that made no sense. Can I show it to you after you check the saddlebags?"

"Of course. I'll help in any way I can."

"Thank you. I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner; so much has happened." She looked unhappy, like she might cry. Anything but a woman's tears.

"Give me a minute with my brother and I'll look at what you found." He took the saddlebags in to Bart's room. Bart was propped up on pillows, reading. Or at least trying to. With only one good arm it was a little difficult to hold the book open and turn the pages at the same time.

"What now?" he asked Bart, referring to the reading material.

"'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea'. I thought it was appropriate. Whatta'ya got there, Brother Bret?"

"A little something that belonged to Deputy Finch. Courtesy of Captain Sampson."

"Does he like you or was he just trying to get rid of you?"

"I've asked myself the same question."

"Did ya get an answer?"

"Not yet. Let's see what we've got here." Bret sat down and dropped the bags on the bed.

Bart protested loudly. "Hey – wounded man here. Be a little careful."

"You weren't shot in the leg, although I'm sure someone would be willing to accommodate you. Let's see – not this, not this, not this, oops, what's this?" He pulled out several; pieces of paper, all bound together, and read from them, "Official Deed of Transfer for Ownership of Property Rights." He turned to Bart excitedly. "Looks like they sent a copy with the Deputy."

"Good. At least I can sign them and send them on their way back to Jody."

"Hold on there, Bart. 'Must be signed in the presence of at least two witnesses, one of whom is an officer of the Montana Savings and Loan or an affiliate thereof.' Looks like Jody's still in hot water."

"Not necessarily. How long does the Belle stop in Memphis?"

"Long enough. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Probably. But how are we gonna do it? I'm supposed to turn myself over to the marshal in Memphis."

"Not happening," Bret stated emphatically. "Sampson's got to back off that demand."

"Do you think he will?"

"No."

"Then how – "

"Leave it to me, little brother. Leave it to me."


	17. Chapter 17 Acting, They Call it Acting

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 17 – Acting, They Call it Acting

"That didn't take long," Emily offered when he came out. "Can we talk now?"

"Sure. Show me what you found." Bret took off his hat and threw it on the settee, then sat down on the other sofa. Emily sat beside him and pulled a small piece of paper out of her pocket. On it was written '**4K Deep – SLC1NO'. **

"Let me see that," Bret requested. Emily handed it to him and he studied it for a minute. "4K would be four Kings. King or Kings could be a family name. Deep is probably how far you have to go if it's buried. The SLC1NO means nothing to me. We can ask Bart if he knows."

Emily and Bret got up and went into Bart's room. "Get me out of here," he pleaded. "I can't stand being in here alone anymore."

"Whatta ya think, Em? Should we rescue him?"

"I think we need him to rescue us," she answered.

"Come on, Brother Bart, let's get you up." Bret bent over to help his brother out of bed. Once on his feet Bart leaned on Bret and the two of them made their way back out into the sitting room. It didn't take Emily long to fill Bart in on her findings in the watch and show him the piece of paper with the strange writings.

"I can help with this one," Bart volunteered. "SLC1NO has to be St. Louis Cemetery #1 in New Orleans. Wasn't Everett born in New Orleans, Emily?"

"Yes, he was. Aunt Millie never left but daddy did, when he met Mama. She was from St. Louis and they moved there after they were married. How did you know that, Bart?"

Bart chuckled softly. "You'd be surprised the things I know about New Orleans after spending time with a friend down there."

Bret looked at his younger brother. "Anderson Garrett and Cemeteries?"

"Remember the story I told you about poker at midnight with Anderson and a bunch of Marie Laveau followers? Those voodoo people? That was in St. Louis Cemetery #1. Bad enough everybody's buried above ground, but to go there and hold a poker game?"

"And you were there why?" Bret queried.

"Richest game in town," the younger Maverick explained.

"Anybody named King stick out in your mind?"

Again, the chuckle. "Not named King, but that's what the titled gentry were called, so it could be anyone."

Emily shuddered. "Why would you bury gold there?"

"Exactly," Bart replied. "That's exactly why. Nobody in their right mind would go there to look for anything like that. If it's still there, that's why."

"Well, we're headed in the right direction."

"Yeah, if we can make it through Memphis."

"Have you no faith, Brother Bart?"

"In what?" Bart asked. "You or God?"

"Yes," Bret answered. "Put your trust in – "

"Money," Emily interjected. "I've learned that the hard way. Always money."

"Pappy would like her," Bart offered. "With an attitude like that?"

"Pappy would love her," Bret added. "A woman after his own heart."

"Speaking of money, Bret, are you planning on playing poker tonight?"

An emphatic shake of the head. "I'm planning on doing nothing but sleeping."

"Here?"

"Right here. Emily, you take the bedroom. I've got the settee."

"No, Bret, I'll go downstairs and sleep in my room. You need to be in your own bed." Emily was just as stubborn as Bart when she wanted to be.

"I can resolve all this," Bart finally interrupted. "I've been sleeping all day. Bret, you take my room. I'll sleep out here. Somebody get me a pillow and a blanket. It's settled."

XXXXXXXX

Blessed relief. Morning came and no one was pounding at the door. The issue of Bart turning himself in when they reached Memphis was rapidly coming to a head, but for now all was quiet.

They still needed a plan for getting him off the ship without being caught, and another plan for getting him back on. The idea was to visit Memphis Bank and Trust and sign the Deed of Transfer in front of the requisite witness and bank officer, then return the signed papers via stage coach to Silver Creek. That would solve the problem of 'The Three Mavericks' saloon, at least for the time being. Then all they had to do was find Zeke Crawford's killer and prove Marcus Hook as evil as Jody suspected him to be. All before they reached New Orleans. There had to be a way.

Bart was awake first, having slept most of the previous day, and was feeling stronger. His arm still hurt like the devil but he'd faced that kind of pain before; as long as he could get around he would survive. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand to be confined to the stateroom. Then there was the issue of his imminent arrest, or at least surrender to the marshal.

Emily was the next one up; she wanted to be as much help as she could. Both Maverick's had put their lives on the line for her, and Bart wouldn't have been shot if he wasn't trying to protect her. She was determined that she owed them a debt far greater than money could repay.

Bret was the last to rise. Tired as he'd been, he'd lain awake a long time trying to figure a way to get Bart off and back on the Belle. He finally developed a plan and counted on Emily to help. Only time would tell. When he was satisfied the ruse might work he fell into a restless sleep, images of Bart in a jail cell and him holding the key appearing and reappearing in his head. When he woke he was still tired but knew he couldn't stay in bed any longer. The first step in his plan required that Bart remain out of sight so that Captain Sampson and his staff would think the young gambler in worse physical shape than he actually was. That would be distasteful for Bart; he was already impatient and ready to leave the stateroom. If their charade was to work, however, his cooperation was required.

Once all three were up and ready to face this day, Bart was surprisingly willing to remain where he was until they'd docked in Memphis. Maybe his attitude had something to do with his affection for Jody and his desire to see the Montana situation resolved. Bret and Emily went to the dining salon and ate breakfast, once again bringing back food and coffee for the 'ailing' Maverick. Bret left immediately; he had a steward's uniform to find and 'borrow' that would fit his brother. Not an easy task, since most of the ship's employees were not as tall as Bart.

Emily packed a bag, to make it appear she was leaving the ship in Memphis. She spent most of the day in the stateroom with Bart, allowing anyone paying attention to assume he needed nursing. Bret spent part of his day there, too, going over the employee listing that Captain Sampson had given him and trying to find anyone who might have a connection to the depraved preacher who'd invaded Silver Creek. There were two possibilities – one a long time employee of the Belle's owners named Ed Samuels and the other a fairly new man named Frank Atwater. His suspicion naturally fell on Atwater; not only was he a new Belle employee, he'd worked for a mission in New Orleans. Perhaps connected to Marcus Hook? Only one way to find out, so sometime after lunch Bret went in search of both men.

Frank Atwater was easy to find – he was working in the galley as a cook. The man seemed pleasant enough, explaining to Bret that he'd taken the job on the Belle because he was tired of being in one place all the time and could think of no other way to travel. Ed Samuels was more difficult to locate – he assisted the first mate in keeping everything running smoothly on board and was usually trying to be in two places at once. When Bret finally caught up to him he was in the middle of a crisis with part of the paddlewheel that wasn't working properly. He too seemed to be a rather likable sort, but Bret was left with the distinct impression that one of these two men was the murderer of Zeke Crawford. The only question was – which one?

The day passed quietly, and as darkness approached so too did Memphis. All three occupants of the stateroom waited to see if Captain Sampson would send one of his stewards to escort Bart to the marshal's office once the Belle docked or would come himself. None of them was surprised when the knock came. Emily helped Bart return to his room and prepare to play 'too injured to be sent to jail' as Bret opened the door. The Captain had made the trip himself.

"Mr. Maverick, as promised, I'm here to collect your brother and have him escorted to the marshals. Is he ready to go?"

"Come in, Captain. I want to know what I have to do to convince you not to do that – my brother's arm appears to be infected and he's running a fever. I hate to think of what will happen when he's cleared of the charges and finds it necessary to sue the owners of the Belle for undue harassment."

Sampson just stood in the doorway to the stateroom and stared at Bret. One or the other of the boys had found it expedient – nay, even necessary – to pull a con before, so this was nothing new to either of them. But Bart's very sanity rested on the shoulders of this con, and Bret put everything he had into selling the Captain on his sincerity. "I need to see him for myself, please."

Bret ushered the captain in and led him to Bart's bedroom, where a reasonable amount of moaning and groaning was going on. Emily had used some powder to help make the injured gambler look even paler than he really was, and strategically dampened his hair and skin in an effort to produce the effects of a man running a high fever. Bart's ability to act hurt or ill came in handy as he pretended to be suffering mightily. None of them knew if the Captain bought the subterfuge or not, but he shook his head and retreated from the room.

Being a normally reasonable man, Captain Sampson had his doubts about both the guilt and the degree of suffering being experienced. Perhaps he should just post a guard outside the door and not risk the veracity of the situation. The longer he debated the question the better he liked his solution. Finally he turned to Bret. "I'm not sure I believe the suffering supposedly going on in that room; but then I'm not sure I believe your brother is a murderer, either. You win for now, Mr. Maverick. I'm posting an armed guard at your door. But if a single hair is harmed on anyone's head for the rest of this voyage, Bart Maverick will finish his ride on the Belle in leg irons." Sampson left and slammed the door behind him.

Bret breathed a big sigh of relief and went back to Bart's room. "He bought it – well, I guess he bought it," he announced to his co-conspirators. Emily clapped her hands together and Bart wiped the water and powder from his face with the towel she'd given him. Now all they had to do was get past the guard in the morning and they were one step closer to saving the saloon from a lunatic.


	18. Chapter 18 Who Can it Be Now?

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 18 – Who Could it Be Now?

The next morning dawned bright and gray. Cloudy, raining, drizzling, misting, at various times of the morning it did all of those, and more. Bret and Bart were glad for the rainy weather; people paid less attention to you when it was inclement. With Bret's help, Bart got into the steward's uniform and tried to affect the proper subservient attitude. The guard outside the Maverick door changed a little after nine a.m. and a few minutes later Emily emerged, with the 'steward' carrying her bag. She slammed out of the front door, causing the guard to turn his attention to the beautiful and distraught young woman and almost ignoring the white-clad man trailing behind her with her luggage. "Can I help you, ma'am?" the guard inquired, temporarily forgetting his purpose at the door, which was not to assist damsels in distress.

"Hmmpff. Men!" she stomped down the hallway, obediently followed by Bart carrying her bag in his right hand. The guard forgot what he was guarding against and willingly allowed the man under surveillance to slip right past him.

Just to make sure Sampson's watchdog was completely distracted, Bret opened the door and shouted down the hallway, "You'll be back! You won't want to stay in Memphis!" Then looked at the guard and stated, "Hmmpff. Women."

So far, so good. Emily proceeded to the gangplank where she intended to go ashore, when she was stopped by one of the on-deck stewards there to assist with just such a task. "Ma'am, is there someone meeting you?" he asked.

"Certainly not," the 'jilted' girlfriend fumed. "I had no intention of leaving the cruise in Memphis." The steward eyed Bart warily.

"Are you new?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yeah," Bart drawled, keeping his eyes down and his head low. "Name's Bill Witherspoon." He sounded for all the world like he'd been born and raised in Louisiana.

"Well, Bill Witherspoon, pay proper attention to the lady and get her a carriage," the on-deck man directed, and slapped Bart on the left bicep. Emily saw the flicker of pain in Bart's eyes but he never flinched or made a sound. Instead he walked ahead of her down the gangplank, switched the bag from his right hand to his left, and hailed her a carriage. The ship's steward turned his attention to someone else and Bart helped Emily into the carriage and then walked around the far side and discreetly got in. "Memphis Bank and Trust" he told the driver and then visibly winced as he continued to feel the effects of being hit on his wounded arm.

It took about two hours to get to the bank, execute the paperwork in front of the proper officials and hand deliver the now signed documents to the stage coach office. By that time Bart was truly miserable; exhausted, hungry and in pain. And his arm was bleeding slightly. They both still had a role to play in the charade, however, and they performed it well. Emily returned to the ship with her steward and her bag still following her, rather like a lap dog would. Up the gangplank and on board with no trouble; when they reached the hallway to the stateroom she made a big show of marching back to the door, all the while talking non-stop to the poor man following her. As soon as Bret heard her he flung the door wide open, yelled "Darlin'! You've come back to me!" grabbed her and drug her inside. The man in white that had turned into her own personal attendant meekly followed in her wake. Once in the room, with the door closed, Emily and Bret dissolved into fits of laughter until they realized the pain that Bart was in. He collapsed onto the nearest settee and both of his co-conspirators rushed over to help him get out of the uniform.

"Successful, I assume?" Bret asked as he helped Bart get the shirt off.

"Completely," his brother winced as the sleeve tried to stick to the dried up blood on his arm. "Now, as long as the stage doesn't get held up on the way there – "

XXXXXXXX

He'd slipped off the ship to send a telegram. He was sure it wasn't going to make Marcus happy.

_Complications – No arrest_

_Implement alternate plan_

_Will Tie Up loose Ends_

_Frank_

He snuck back on board, unhappy to be forced into using the back-up plan devised before he'd ever left. But that's what they had back-up plans for. Now he had to follow the alternate path to denying Jody Mayfield ownership rights. If the owner died before the Deed of Transfer could be recorded it would invalidate the signed documents, so there was only one path left to accomplish the desired goal – kill Bart Maverick.

XXXXXXXX

Whether Captain Sampson or the guard outside the Maverick stateroom liked it or not, Memphis was behind them and Bart Maverick was going to supper. He no longer needed to pretend he was injured any worse than he was; his arm hurt like hell but Doctor Horton saw no signs of infection, so there was nothing to do but grit his teeth and hope it would stop. He's had a nap after this morning's adventure; he was hungry and tired of sitting inside the stateroom and reading. His head hurt and there was nothing he could do about it. Sometimes he wondered if the headaches were the lingering after effects of the pistol whipping he'd received or if he just worried too much and made his own head hurt. Maybe Bret was right when he called his younger brother a 'wounded mule.'

Bret had already eaten and was off to play poker. There was nothing he could do tonight to investigate his two suspects any further, at least not while they were on duty. He was going to talk to their co-workers in the morning and try to gain further insight into who or what they were.

Emily and Bart were headed down the hall towards the dining salon when she remembered her shawl. Not wanting to walk all the way back to the stateroom, he decided to wait there for her. He was standing alone in the hallway, with his right shoulder braced against the wall, when he heard something that made him turn and look behind him. There was nothing there. Moments later Emily reappeared and they proceeded to supper. Bart had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched.

After the meal the last thing he wanted to do was sit in the stateroom. He'd make a lousy one handed poker player, so the only reasonable thing left was taking a walk around the open deck. It wasn't such a bad idea, with a beautiful young woman on his arm, and Emily was more than ready to enjoy the night air. As long as they took it slow and easy he'd be fine. Half way around the top deck Bart wanted a cigar; they stopped temporarily so he could get one out and light it. As they stood by the deck railing he had that same feeling of being watched. This was beginning to unnerve him. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or was there really somebody watching them? He had no answer to that question.

He looked around and realized they were standing in almost the exact spot he'd found Emily standing in the first night of the cruise. Just a few days ago, yet so much had transpired in that short period of time. He took a draw on the cigar and something behind Emily again caught his eye – this was getting to be ridiculous. "What's wrong, Bart?" she finally asked.

"We're being watched."

"By whom?"

"That's the question. I don't know."

He pulled her close and held her against him, allowing him to check behind her without being observed. "Stand still for a minute – I need to see behind you." She had no objections.

"Is it Captain Sampson's men?"

"Shhh. No. They're obvious." They stood for a minute more and then he told her, "Emily, I 'm gonna kiss you. Play along." And so he did.

When it was over she opened her eyes and looked up at him – this was a strange kind of man. The kisses between her and Bret had been playful, and fun, and nothing more. The kiss with this man was tender, and passionate, and romantic. And she wanted him to kiss her again; instead he pulled back from her. This was Bret's girl, as far as he was concerned, and the kiss had occurred strictly for the benefit of whoever was watching them.

"Did you see anyone?"

"Hmmm? Oh, no, no one at all. I must be imagining things."

'_If I'm lucky,'_ she thought, _'maybe he'll imagine something again.'_

They stood for another minute and he peered down the darkened rail. There was a couple further down the deck, much as Bart and Emily had been, and two gentlemen smoking cigars beyond that, but nothing more. Anything he'd seen behind Emily was long gone.

"Let's go back to the stateroom," he suggested. Whatever he believed was there spooked him. He'd feel better if Emily was inside, where she was safe. The idea of him not being safe never entered his mind.

"Oh, it's so nice out here, and so stuffy inside. Can't we stay out for just a little while?"

"Alright," he answered. "But let's walk again. "Moving targets – " he paused before he went any further. The girl was finally feeling safe; no sense worrying her because of his paranoia.

Emily was right; it was a beautiful night after a most unpleasant day. He was pleased that Bret's little farce had gone off without a hitch – well, almost without a hitch, as the lingering ache in his arm reminded him – and hoped that what they'd accomplished today would stop Marcus Hook in his tracks and give Jody some peace of mind. Emily was talking to him but his mind was elsewhere. What if there really was someone watching and following them? Who could it be? The only one left was Zeke Crawford's killer – if he hadn't gotten off in Memphis.


	19. Chapter 19 The Hunter Becomes the Prey

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 19 – The Hunter Becomes the Prey

Marcus Hook re-read the telegram for the fourth time and still didn't like what he was reading. "I want to know what happened. This was supposed to be wrapped up by now. Doesn't any of this go right anymore? I thought he could be trusted." Hook was talking to his second-in-command, Deacon Ralph Sharp.

"I don't know, Reverend. I heard those Mavericks were clever boys, but not this clever." Ralph's head nodded up and down as he spoke. It was an annoying habit; one that Marcus still found disturbing after all these years.

"Too late to send somebody else, I suppose. Let's just hope that the situation is in the right hands at last. I want that saloon closed sooner rather than later."

Sharp agreed with his leader. "I'm sure it will be. He's among the very best, you know."

The reverend snorted. "Can't prove it by me, Ralph. This needs to be finished. The sooner Maverick's gone, the sooner 'Mavericks' will be gone!" Hook laughed at his own joke.

XXXXXXXX

Bart was still a little tired from all the machinations yesterday, but his arm didn't hurt as much and he was actually feeling less disturbed than last night. Boogeymen are easier to see in the dark than the daylight, and this day had dawned bright and clear. He was anxious to talk to Bret about the 'being watched' feelings he'd had; his older brother had a way of putting things in perspective that he appreciated.

Emily was up soon after Bart and they were about to leave for breakfast when there was a knock on the door. Bart had gotten gun-shy with uninvited guests and Emily answered it. It was another ship's steward bearing a note from Captain Sampson. It was simply addressed to 'Maverick' so Bart opened it. _'In receipt of information you may find interesting. Come to my office at your earliest convenience.'_

"That's ominous enough," Bart remarked when he was through reading. "I wonder what the captain just can't wait to tell Brother Bret."

"You don't know if he sent that to Bret or not," Emily offered. "It was addressed to 'Maverick', not Bret."

"True," came the reply, "but after our encounters I'm not sure Sampson would even want to talk to me."

"Go find out," she told him. "Breakfast will still be there."

Suggestion accepted. Emily sat back down to wait and Bart hurried out the door, as fast as his damaged body would let him.

When he got to Sampson's office he knocked and went in. No one was there. _'Strange,'_ he thought. _'Maybe he got called to the pilothouse.'_ He turned around to leave and reached for the door. It wouldn't open. He tried again. Nope. Locked. _'How did that happen?' _he wondered. Not much to do but wait until Sampson returned.

Bart chose one of the chairs in front of the captain's desk. He'd only been there a few minutes when he caught a whiff of something in the air that didn't belong there. Smoke? Somebody must be in the vicinity with a cigar. No wait, that wasn't cigar smoke. That smelled like a fire. Before he could turn around he heard a 'pop' and then a spitting sound. How in the world? The captain's office was on fire, flames crackling up the wall just to the right of the locked door. Bart looked for anything to put the fire out; the office bore no water or liquid of any kind and no blanket that could be used to smother it. Better do something quick, he reasoned, and tried putting his right shoulder into the door as hard as he could. No use; it was solid and unmovable. There was a porthole on the wall behind the desk but it was too small for a man his size to get through. It opened, however, and allowed him a little air and a way to be heard. "Help!" he yelled as loud as he could. "Fire! Captain's office. I'm locked in! Help!"

As the flames danced higher on the wall and began to lick the insides of the room the smoke got thicker. He'd been through this before, when the ranch burned to the ground, and only Bret's quick thinking and reactions had saved them both. But there was no Bret here now. How ironic, to be caught in a burning office on a ship in the middle of the longest river in the United States. He tried yelling out the porthole again but the smoke made it impossible to cough out any sound. Not the way he intended to die, but just as that thought was on the verge of becoming reality he heard what sounded like the lock being picked. In just a few moments the door was flung open and Bart wasted no time fleeing the room. Bucket after bucket of water was thrown on the walls and the fire was quickly contained.

Bart was on his hands and knees, coughing his insides out, when he felt a hand on his back. "You alright, son?" came a familiar voice. He tried to nod 'yes' but he was coughing so hard that the most he could do was reach out and grab the arm that belonged to the hand. It was his brother's. The next voice he heard belonged to Captain Sampson and got progressively louder as it got closer.

"What the hell? Who set my office on fire?" The voice got closer still and caught site of Bret, then it spit out, "Maverick! I should have known. Were you trying to kill me or yourself?"

"Neither," the older Maverick replied. "Someone was trying to kill my brother."

XXXXXXXX

Several hours later he was still coughing his lungs up. Doctor Horton had done what he could for the smoke inhalation, which wasn't much, and sent him on his way. Bret had his hand around the back of Bart's neck, holding on to him just in case he went into another choking fit and stumbled and fell, like he had a few minutes ago. Captain Sampson looked thoroughly bewildered. Sampson was the first to speak between Bart's coughing spasms.

"I still don't understand. Why set my office on fire?"

"It wasn't your office they were after, Captain, it was Bart's hide."

"Not . . . _.cough _. . . . just my . . ._ cough_ . . . . hide . . . . _gasp_," choked out Bart.

"No, Brother Bart, not just your hide. You saw for yourself, Captain, that door was locked from the outside," Bret continued. "How many keys are there?"

"Two or three, besides mine."

"I take it you didn't lock the door?"

"Of course not!" the captain protested loudly.

Bart shot a look Bret's way that said it all. "Sure? . . . . . _cough_," asked Bart.

The captain looked horrified. "Do you really think . . . . . .?"

Bret tried to keep the captain happy while not insulting his brother's instincts. "Certainly not," he stated unequivocally, while shooting Bart back a look of his own.

"But who . . . . . ?" was Sampson's last question.

"Obviously someone with a key. Where are the others?"

"My wife has one," spluttered the captain, "but she's not on this trip. My First Mate, Jeffrey Holder. The head chef, Pierre St. Henri. And the head of the repair department, Grover North. That's all, Mr. Maverick. Not counting mine."

"Then let's see if somebody's is missing." Bret moved his hand from Bart's neck to his shoulder. "You up for it, Brother Bart?"

For the first time in a while Bart was able to say a word without coughing. "Sure."

XXXXXXXX

The First Mate was easy enough to find. He was in charge of the pilothouse when the captain was away from it. That's where Sampson and the Mavericks headed, Bart having to stop every now and then to cough. Mr. Holder never questioned why the captain needed to see his key, just produced it immediately. Satisfied with the response, the three of them went to the galley to look for the great Pierre St. Henri.

Bart's coughing continued unabated and he stopped at the dining salon to have coffee. It was the first thing he'd had since supper last night and one cup was not going to prove satisfactory, so he elected to wait there for Sampson and Bret to finish with the chef. Chef St. Henri was as temperamental as his reputation implied and did his best to ignore the impertinent intruders. It was up to Bret to corner him and, after a semi-serious discussion about Beef Bourguignon and Steak Tartare, Chef Pierre produced his key.

Back to the captain's office, where Grover North and his team were already trying to repair the fire damage. This one was no problem either, as North had just handed his key over to his assistant to check and make sure the fire hadn't damaged the door lock.

"I don't know where to go from here, Captain," Bret offered. "There has to be another key somewhere. That door didn't get locked by itself."

Bart had rejoined Sampson and his brother once they left the galley. "Are you sure there's no other key?" he asked now, believing that they'd missed something.

"No, Mr. Maverick, there's no other key. I'm afraid we've come to a dead end for now." The captain seemed so certain it was foolish to pursue the question. "I will remove the guard from your stateroom, however. It's become quite clear to me that you were the unwilling victim of the real killer or killers."

Bart sighed with relief. Even though he now had a more serious problem to contend with, at least the immanent specter of a jail cell no longer loomed over him. One old accusation dispensed with; now he was the hunted instead of the accused hunter. Looked like his brother Bret had a new body to guard.

XXXXXXXX

Even though the attempt wasn't successful, the fire had always been the preferred method as far as Marcus Hook was concerned when they were planning for the possibility of an alternate means of termination. All sinners should burn in hell, and so much the better if hell came sooner rather than later. A gambler was the worst form of sinner in the preacher's eyes. They ruined not only their own lives, but took the lives of good, hard-working citizens with them. One less on the earth would hurt no one.

The killer had to smile to himself. So clever to have stolen the key from Mrs. Sampson to her husband's office on board the Belle. She'd not miss something she never used, and no one would understand how the door could have gotten locked when all the keys were accounted for. The first attempt had failed. The hunt wasn't over.


	20. Chapter 20 Black Water

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 20 – Black Water

Now that things had changed there was no way Emily was going back to her room. Captain Sampson released Bart's derringer; there was to be no investigation into Jerome Lewis' death. Because he had his own Remington back the spare that Bret had given him was passed to Emily. She knew how to use the gun and insisted on staying in the stateroom to help defend the man she'd hired to protect her. It made her feel useful. Bart was worried about her getting hurt.

The young cardsharp was free now to come and go as he pleased, only he went nowhere without a bodyguard; Bret most of the time. Emily accompanied him when Bret had to be somewhere else. Not that he needed or wanted Emily putting herself in danger – but she felt better being there.

The rest of the day was quiet, save for the constant coughing that Bart was forced into by the ingested smoke. He insisted on going to the dining salon for supper – once again he was going crazy 'hiding' in the stateroom. Besides, Chef Pierre had promised he'd make something special for the three of them – and Bret broke his heart when he insisted that Steak Tartare wouldn't do given Bart's aversion to any beef not practically scorched. Instead he made Confit de Canard and even Bart had to admit the duck was outstanding.

The night passed peacefully, Bret once again insisting that Emily take his room and allow him to sleep in the sitting room. He decided against poker in the gaming salon that night, the three of them instead playing five card stud most of the evening because it was easier than trying to play draw poker one handed. Bart finally retired when the coughing got to be too much for even him to listen to. Bret began teaching Emily Maverick Solitaire and she took to it right away. They'd spent precious little time together in the past few days and it was nice to be alone for a while. It allowed them a chance to talk and discover that neither one of them was ready for a longer lasting relationship. Emily's focus was on taking care of Aunt Millie; Bret's was on keeping his brother alive.

The next day Captain Sampson sent for the brothers, finally getting around to writing the official version of the murders. He needed their signed statements as witnesses and both were hoping it might be one of their last encounters with the captain. The task was tedious; Sampson was meticulous about details and included every feeling and nuance in the report. Emily elected to stay in the stateroom and nurse her headache, hoping to put an early end to it.

Bart finished first and he was more than happy to be done spending time in the room in which he'd almost met his maker. Even though Grover North's crew had done a good job of repairing the damage Bart could still smell the odor of burnt wood. He was too close to it; he couldn't yet forget the moment of realization that he was going to die, either by asphyxiation or cooked alive like a jackrabbit. Against Bret's protests he vacated the captain's office and walked downstairs to the second deck alone. It was a decision he almost wouldn't live to regret.

He hadn't been down here much; it was, quite frankly, much more raucous and chaotic than the top deck. Children ran back and forth, mothers and fathers strolled hand in hand with their families, men sat in deck chairs and smoked cigarettes and cigars, telling boisterous stories of their latest exploits. Even if you were nothing more than an observer there was more here to observe.

Bart stopped at one of the deck gates in the rail and pulled out a cigar. He was in the process of lighting it and had his head down when he felt hands grab him from behind and push him through the unlocked opening. There was no time to do anything but fall and crash into the cold, black, muddy river below. The water was stirred up so violently by the paddlewheel that he was pulled under before he could grab a breath. Soaking wet and freezing, his mouth full of water, his head pounding from the fall into the river and unable to swim because of his wounded left arm, he struggled frantically to stay above the water. He was pulled under once more as the paddlewheel churned the river and his throat constricted so that nothing entered his lungs, including air. He grabbed desperately for the hull and couldn't hang on. Everything was terribly cold and he began to lose consciousness.

A silent figure faded back into the throng that gathered where the man had fallen in. "MAN OVERBOARD" someone yelled; the crowd of people was frozen. He was drowning and they all knew it, but no one made a move to help.

Bret had finally finished with Captain Sampson and signed the report when he heard a commotion on the second deck. He looked around for Bart and didn't see him, then walked over to the rail just as someone yelled "MAN OVERBOARD." He peered over the rail and saw the lone figure pulled back under the water; a man was struggling against the terrible thrashing force of the paddlewheel stirred river. With abject horror gripping every bit of his insides he turned and sprinted for the stairs to the lower deck, desperately hoping he was wrong. Across the middle deck he ran, and when he got close enough to the open deck gate he hesitated but a moment, long enough to see Bart's hat pulled under by the wildly churning river.

He flung his body off the deck, trying to land far enough from the Belle to avoid the worst of the tumultuous water. He crashed ino the river with a great splash and kept his mouth shut as he went under for the first time. He rose to the surface and frantically searched for his younger brother, who had ceased to struggle and was on the verge of going under for good. In three short strokes he was behind the drowning man and hooked his arms under Bart's armpits, pulling him backwards and raising his head and mouth out of the water. Bret swam towards the bow and when he got close enough to the ship two of the deck hands pulled Bart up while he climbed out of the river.

Somebody produced blankets and Bret wrapped one around himself as he knelt by his prone and unconscious brother. He wrapped the second one around Bart and placed his fingers on Bart's neck to check for a pulse; he couldn't find one. No chest movement either; no breathing. Bret rolled his brother onto his side and hit him as hard as he could between the shoulder blades with the heel of his hand. Nothing of any consequence. Bret hit him again. Bart sputtered and choked and coughed up what seemed like gallons of water, and continued choking and coughing long after anything ceased to come out. Bret checked for a pulse again and found one, steady but weak. Bart's eyes were still closed and his face was as white as his shirt.

Bret pulled the blanket tighter around his body. The water was bone-chilling cold and even though the air was warmer and dry he was shivering violently. How much could be blamed on the river and how much was fear and dread was difficult to discern.

Coughing overtook Bart again and his eyes fluttered open this time. "Shhhh, it's alright; you're alright. I got ya," Bret crooned to him. The initial shock and terror on Bart's face was replaced by recognition and trust as his eyes focused on his brother. Bart rolled onto his back and continued coughing but his right hand reached out and grabbed Bret's. Even with the coughing a small smile played around the corners of his mouth.

Within two minutes Doc Horton was there. He took a quick look at Bart, still coughing and breathing with difficulty, and glanced at Bret, still shaking with cold, and told the two crew hands, "Get this man up to his room – stateroom 7, top deck." The crew members who had pulled Bart from the water picked him up carefully and carried him in the direction of the stateroom. Doc turned his attention to Bret. "You alright?" he asked the shivering man.

"No, but I will be, soon as he's alright," Bret answered as he started to follow his brother.

"Stand still," Doc Horton ordered. Bret stopped and stood. Doc used his stethoscope to listen to Bret's lungs. When he determined they were clear enough he waved his hand at him and Bret took off running after the men carrying his brother. Doc just sighed and shook his head. _'What had those_ _boys gotten into now?' _he wondered.

XXXXXXXX

Bret caught up with his brother and the deck hands and unlocked the stateroom door. Emily was sitting quietly on the settee when the door opened and jumped up as soon as Bart was carried in. Back to the bedroom he went, with Bret right behind and Doc Horton trailing them. Bret was soaking wet, hatless and wrapped in a towel, and while Bart appeared to be conscious he was not really aware of what was going on around him. He was coughing and choking every few seconds and his breathing was ragged and shallow. He too was soaked to the skin, wrapped in a blanket and hatless.

"What happened?" Emily gasped as she followed them into the bedroom, where the ship's employees laid Bart down on the bed. Bret immediately started undressing his brother, trying to get the cold, wet clothes off of him. He didn't stop when he turned his head in Emily's direction.

"Go, Emily, or you'll see parts of my brother you never expected to see." This was no time for modesty; Emily had been warned. She reluctantly left the room along with the two men. Doc started listening to Bart's breathing with the stethoscope while Bret continued the task at hand. Soon the wet clothes were gone and Bret had his brother covered in as many dry blankets as he could find.

"Go change clothes," Doctor Horton instructed him. "I'll be here with him."

Bret, still shivering, just not as violently, did as he was told. He strode across the sitting room, Emily trailing behind him asking questions. He never paused, just kept walking until he disappeared behind the closed door of his room. Emily, frustrated and frightened, sat back down on the settee.

When Bret returned a few minutes later he was dry, warm and had stopped shaking. "What happened?" Emily repeated as he walked back into the sitting room. This time he stopped and answered her.

"I don't know," he started. "We gave our sworn statements to the captain; Bart finished before I did. I didn't want him to go but he wouldn't stay in that room. I got done a while later and left. Couldn't find him. I heard all this noise goin' on and looked over the railing to see what happened. Bart was in the water, fightin' to stay afloat and losin' ground. I ran down to the second deck and jumped in after him. That's it."

'Was he pushed? Did he fall? Did he – "

"I don't know, Emily," he cut her off. "I don't know what happened." His mind went back to Bart's careless comment about ending it all. "I just don't know. We'll have to wait to find out." He walked back to Bart's room and closed the door behind him.


	21. Chapter 21 Swimmin' to New Orleans

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 21 – Swimmin' to New Orleans

"Any idea what happened?" Doc Horton asked.

"Not sure," came the reply.

"How long was he in there?"

"Long enough to drown." Bret was sitting next to the bed, watching the doctor work. Horton was checking his patient's breathing, pulse and heart rate. Breathing was ragged and labored, pulse was steady but not strong, and the heart beat – the heart sounded like it was on a long, lazy vacation and beat about half the speed it should. Maybe that was the reason for the once again unconscious state of the victim.

"He was lucky you got to him."

Bret nodded, afraid to dwell on the results if he hadn't. "What happens next?"

"Keep him down," the doctor answered. "He needs rest more than anything. Have Emily come get me if anything changes."

"What might change?" Bret wanted to make sure he knew what to watch for, since Bart was well known for ignoring doctor's orders when he saw fit.

"Well, watch his breathin'; if it seems he's havin' trouble, he is. And keep an eye on that heart – it's beatin' awful slow. I don't like that, but there's not much I can do about it. He's got to do what he's supposed to this time if he wants to live to be an old man. Course I'm not sure that's possible for him." Doc laughed at that; it was meant to be a joke. Bret took it seriously.

He stood to shake Doctor Horton's hand. "Thanks again, Doc. Glad it was you on this trip and not somebody else."

"Bret, I appreciate that. Take care of him."

The doctor left and soon Emily appeared at the door. "Is it safe now?"

Maverick gave her a little smile. "Yeah, it's safe. Sorry – I just had to get him outta those wet clothes and didn't have time to be polite."

"You don't have to explain. He's your brother. How is he?"

The answer was short. "Out."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Nope." The distinctive head shake accompanied the answer. "I don't see how he could have fallen. Pushed, maybe."

She hesitated to ask but finally did so. "Jumped?"

Bret had given it a good deal of thought. Bart would never do that, even if he'd joked about it. "No."

"Are you sure?"

There was no hesitation in his answer. "Yes."

"Do you think it was the person that set the fire? Is somebody trying to kill him?"

"Why not? Somebody tried to frame him for murder. Isn't this the next step?"

"But why? We took care of the ownership transfer. Why would they still be after him?"

"Did we? What happens if he's dead before the transfer is recorded?"

Emily looked pensive. "I don't know. You'd need a lawyer to answer that."

Bret shook his head. "No, I'd need a man who was so bored sitting in jail that he read law books. Bart." At the mention of his name, the man in the bed stirred slightly. "Bart, can you hear me?"

The coughing started again, in earnest. Between the smoke and the water Bart's throat was so raw that merely breathing irritated it. Without opening his eyes he croaked out a single word. "Bret."

"Bart, I know your throat has to hurt. Can you look at me?"

Very gradually his brother's eyes opened. They were bloodshot and unfocused, worse than when Bret first pulled him out of the river. They darted frantically around for a minute, not realizing where he was, then slowly he blinked and the recognition returned.

"You're safe; back in the room. Didn't tell me you were goin' for a swim."

The words came out like nails on a chalkboard. "Couldn't swim." His eyes were frantic again, as if reliving the experience. He tried to throw the covers off, get out of bed and flee. Bret grabbed him by the arms to stop him.

"Bart, you're safe; lie still. I won't let anybody hurt you. Did somebody push you in?"

The young gambler nodded. "Yes. Pushed."

"Did you get a look at whoever did it?"

His head shook 'no' this time. "Behind me."

Emily sat on the edge of the bed and took Bart's hand. "From the middle deck?" she asked.

He nodded 'yes.' Then he managed to rasp out, "Long way down."

Bret again. "Brother Bart, I need to ask you a question about all the law reading you did in Montana."

Bart studied his brother's face intently, as if memorizing every line of it. "Sure."

How to phrase this so that it was clear what he was asking? "What would happen if the person signing a deed of transfer died before the transfer was recorded?"

Bart laid there holding onto Emily's hand. Before he could answer another coughing fit shook him, and this one even sounded painful. Finally he managed to get out a word. "Invalid."

"Let me get this straight – you signed that Deed of Transfer so that Jody would legally own your share of the saloon – but if something happened to you before it was recorded, the transfer would be invalid? She wouldn't own your share?" Bret laid everything out clearly so that there would be no doubt.

Bart's answer was blessedly short. "Right."

Bret turned his head back to Emily. "There's your answer. Marcus Hook has another killer here – whoever got Zeke Crawford is supposed to kill my brother."


	22. Chapter 22 Left-Handed Poker

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 22 – Left-Handed Poker

Nobody left the stateroom that night. Chef Pierre sent over dinner for two and some extraordinary turkey soup for the near-drowning victim; no one could treat friends of the renowned chef so shamefully. Bart slept when he wasn't coughing and choking; his raw throat only got worse as the night progressed. Emily offered to let Bret go play poker and stay with Bart, but Bret wanted to be close in case he was needed. Once more he slept on the floor of his brother's room and was there when the nightmares returned like a faithless lover.

Bret took the derringer back from Emily the next morning. Her role in this three-act play was finished; if party or parties unknown were trying to kill his brother, Bret didn't want Emily to get hurt in the attempts. And attempts were all they would be; Bret Maverick was not going to let some unknown murderer make him an only child.

Only two more days to Baton Rouge; Bret was anxious to reach the port city and depart the Bayou Belle. As far as he was concerned the trip was over; the sooner they got back on dry land the sooner they could put an end to the floating nightmare the ship had become. The next time someone said 'riverboat' to him he had every intention of departing, quickly.

Bart, on the other hand, felt quite differently. It was his life that the two attempts had been made on; he wanted to know who besides Marcus Hook was responsible. If that meant staying on board until they docked in New Orleans, so be it. Besides, he was determined to get over his current physical limitations and help Emily look into St. Louis Cemetery #1. Maybe there would yet be some gold to line the Maverick pockets with.

He didn't share his intentions with his brother, and thank goodness for that. Bret wouldn't have been enthusiastic with the physical restrictions Bart was facing. He found it difficult to breathe at times and no matter how much he slept the tiredness didn't seem to dissipate. By the end of another day his throat was less inflamed, but that seemed to be the only change. He was ready to get out of bed until Bret actually let him, and when the extreme dizziness overtook him almost instantly he grabbed for his brother's arm and held on for dear life.

"Doctor Horton said to rest," Bret reiterated as he helped Bart back into bed. "He meant for longer than five minutes. What's it gonna take to keep you in there?"

"Information," was Bart's immediate answer.

"What kind of information?" came the follow-up inquiry.

"Want to know who pushed me."

"Oh, is that all? And how am I supposed to find that out for you?"

"Investigate." The only advantage of Bart's still extremely tender throat was that he didn't talk forever. His sentences and sentiments were as short as he could make them and still be understood.

"And just what am I supposed to investigate?"

"Atwater and Samuels."

Great. He never should have mentioned the two names to his brother; now Bart had something to fixate on. "No. I'm done. Let the Baton Rouge sheriff investigate them. I'm not taking any more chances with your life."

Bart threw back the covers and used the chair to pull himself into a standing position by the side of the bed. Dizziness or no dizziness, he wasn't going to let someone get away with attempted murder – especially since it had been him they'd attempted to murder. "Who and why."

Bret didn't lose his temper very often; the younger Maverick was much quicker to anger than the older Maverick. But Bret was done with tempting fate; as far as he was concerned it was over with. "I don't care who and why anymore. Who is Marcus Hook and why is because you're in the way of something he wants. That's enough. He can't have what he's after as long as we keep you alive. That's the only goal I have."

"Somebody is a killer."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean they have to kill you." Bret was frustrated. Bart didn't want to pay attention to what he was saying, and taking chances had almost gotten his brother killed. Twice. No more as far as Bret was concerned.

Without making a sound Emily appeared at the door. "What's going on in here?"

"He's being a stubborn mule," Bret responded.

Bart got very quiet and still. Bret knew whatever was coming next was important. There was utter seriousness in Bart's voice when he spoke, "Need to know who, Bret."

Bret threw up his hands. "I give up. I'll find out about Atwater and Samuels if you'll get back in bed."

Barr let go of the chair and dropped back down onto the bed. "Good. Done."

Emily started laughing and couldn't stop. "You two are impossible. Was it always like this growing up?"

"No," Bart shook his head.

"Worse," Bret added.

XXXXXXXX

Bret left his brother with a loaded Colt Peacemaker and an equally loaded Remington derringer. In addition he gave his derringer back to Emily for insurance while he was gone. He didn't want to do any more investigating but he'd made a deal with a devil named Bartley Jamison Maverick and he would uphold his end of the bargain.

He went first to the dining salon to have coffee and talk to the staff about Frank Atwater. Most agreed he was a nice enough man; a hard worker who showed up on time and did his job without complaint. He didn't talk much about his past, just that he was tired of what he'd been doing and wanted to see more of the country. No one had heard him speak of any family and he seemed to spend more time alone than with anyone. Unusual but not unheard of.

Other company employees knew Ed Samuels a lot better; he'd worked for the ship's owners at various jobs for a long time. He appeared to have no problems with anyone and was a most efficient employee; he'd worked his way up from the bottom of the company to his current position as assistant to Grover North over the course of several years. He was a recent widower with a daughter who idolized her father.

Neither of the men seemed to be likely candidates as a murder suspect. The only thing that continued to bother Bret was Atwater's previous employment at a mission in New Orleans. The place was the 'New Orleans Mission of Hope and Light' and Bret intended to send a telegram in Vicksburg to find out if it was in any way associated with Marcus Hook. If so, they had a connection. If not, he was at a dead end.

Since Bret had extracted a promise from his brother that Bart would 'stay put' in the stateroom and rest the entire day, he felt a little better about spending some time visiting the poker tables in the gaming room. He was surprised to find Ed Samuels at one of the smaller stake tables – while most riverboats had no rules about the employees mixing with the passengers in their leisure time; it was unusual to find any of them playing poker. There was an open seat at Samuels's table; Bret sat in for a while and played five card draw with the man and learned more about him. He was a decent enough player, but he didn't take losing well and he started doing a lot of it when Bret joined the table. He was a 'tight' player, every few games he would sit out a hand or two, as if studying the way his fellow opponents played.

Bret didn't care for that kind of a card player and watched him closely. Still, there was nothing out of the ordinary that Maverick could see. Just because a man played a different style of poker didn't make him a killer. After about two hours the game broke up and Bret pocketed his winnings and walked back to the stateroom. He replayed the poker game in his mind and knew something was bothering him, but he couldn't figure out exactly what. Until he got to the unexpected remark that came from Samuels right before the game broke up. "No wonder my brother hates gambling so much. It really is the devils playground." The man hadn't mentioned a brother before; there was nothing to indicate he had any family other than his daughter.

Why did the comment make him think something was odd? Plenty of people had family they didn't discuss; there'd been a time in the past that Bret and Bart had been estranged and no one would guess he had a brother. The tone of Samuels's voice, almost like he held his brother in contempt for the attitude? The abject bitterness in the remark? The phrasing 'the devil's playground?' Whatever it was, Bret wanted to know more. Sounded like a second telegram was in order when they reached Vicksburg.

Against his better judgement Bret allowed himself to get drawn back in to the question of who was actually responsible for all the dead bodies, and was that same person trying to add his brother to the head count? Bart didn't need to know that; he would just push Bret harder and faster than the older brother might think it wise to go. He made the decision before he reached his destination to keep his change of heart to himself and see where it led him.

Bart had kept his promise to 'stay put' after a fashion; instead of resting in bed he was propped up in the sitting room regaling Emily with stories of he, Bret and Beau growing up in Texas. Every few minutes he had to stop for a coughing spasm or a drink of water; Bret noticed that there was no coffee in sight. That was a welcome improvement. He was relieved to see Bart more spirited than he'd been for a while; the poor boy had been through enough pain and suffering. The first thing he heard was from Emily – "So what did the pig do then?" – and he knew exactly the story Bart was telling her.

"I won't ask if you missed me," he offered as he walked in, then pointed at his brother. "I thought you were supposed to stay in bed?"

"Staying put is not the same as staying in bed," came a well-known reply. "I haven't gone any further than right here all afternoon. What did you find out?"

"Not much," he lied convincingly. "Got some ideas that may or may not lead me anywhere. I'll send a couple wires in Vicksburg and see what kind of answers I get. Then I'll have more to tell you."

Much as Bart wanted immediate answers he knew from experience when not to push Bret for those answers. Now was one of those times. Something had gotten his brother's attention – something they hadn't seen or heard before. For now he'd be a 'good boy' and wait. And hope that Bret would share whatever information he had before Bart's patience ran out.


	23. Chapter 23 He Ain't Heavy

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 23 – He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

Vicksburg proved to be just big enough to send telegrams in. Bret got both of his off, one to the 'New Orleans Mission of Hope and Light' and the second to his friend Seth Parrish, a deputy marshal stationed in the French Quarter. Both were asked to send answers to 'Bret Maverick, General Delivery, Baton Rouge, Louisiana.' One or the other should give him the answers he needed.

Everything stayed quiet in the stateroom, with Bret and Emily the only ones coming and going, never both at the same time. Bart seemed to have accepted the fact that he was going to spend the majority of the remaining trip, at least the leg to Baton Rouge, in bed. He wasn't happy about it but Bret was adamant that his brother remain safe and rest until he had some answers. With no further attempts on his life the younger Maverick appeared to begin recovering from his wounds, at least on the physical front. His throat was less irritated and most of the coughing stopped; even his damaged arm started to heal. He began to look and act more like himself. He still tired easily, but Doc Horton seemed to think that was pathetically normal given the ordeal he'd been through.

As they were approaching Baton Rouge Bret finally revealed his intentions. Bart wasn't surprised by the revelation – the afternoon Bret came back from playing poker with Ed Samuels he knew something had changed. Bret explained the hunch he had about both of their suspects and Bart agreed there were peculiarities with both men. They waited anxiously for the Belle to dock and Bret once again left his brother and Emily armed while he went to the telegraph office.

He was absent from the ship until early evening; Bart and Emily tried reading, playing poker and having an early supper to pass the time, counting the minutes until his return. Finally there he was at the door, and he'd hardly stepped foot inside before Bart was beseeching him for the answers the wires contained.

"Well, let's put it this way," he started as he sat down to explain what he'd learned. "The mission in New Orleans appears to have no ties to Marcus Hook or any of his followers. That's not the end of it, though – Frank Atwater worked for Hook's fanatical religious group before the mission employed him. Whether he still works for or continues loyal to that bunch remains to be seen."

Bart hadn't anticipated what followed; even Bret was still trying to digest the information he'd gotten from his friend, Deputy Parrish. "The man we know as Ed Samuels had a different name at birth. His given name is actually Frank Edward Hook. He's Marcus Hook's younger brother."

All sound in the room evaporated like so much water vapor. Emily's mouth fell open and Bart shook his head in bewilderment. "His brother?" was the only thing Bart could say.

Bret simply nodded; this was all too new. Marcus and Frank Hook were born to a mother who raised them alone; she'd been deserted by their father, a drunk and a gambler who lost what little the family had and then vanished. The boys were left to struggle through their childhood after their mother died when they were not much older than the children in the photo in Zeke Crawford's possession. They were taken in by different relatives and Frank began using the name Ed Samuels; the Samuels family were his mother's relatives. Marcus became a preacher; Ed a laborer. They'd drifted apart over the years because Ed didn't share Marcus' passion for 'reforming' people. Until the last two years, that is; then Ed's wife died. After reconnecting Ed became a fervent disciple of his brother's, but continued to use the name he'd adopted and grown up with. If or how Ed had turned into a killer was unknown; but it soon became apparent that he'd fallen under his charismatic brother's spell and there was practically nothing that he wouldn't do for Marcus.

Bret and Bart sat and mulled over the facts, each stunned into silence by the information, both wondering how family could be so alienated for so long. Bret had been sure one of his two suspects would stand out as the apparent guilty party – although the blame now seemed to point more obviously towards Ed Samuels, either one could actually still be the murderer. The guessing game had not changed one bit.

"What do we do now?" Bart asked the question. Until there was a murder suspect in custody his life was still at risk.

Bret hesitated to answer his brother; the answer was obvious and wrong. "I . . . . . . don't know."

Bart didn't waste any time. "Yes, you do. We need to draw the killer out, and there's only one way to do that."

"No. "

"I don't see that we have any other choice, Bret. There's a murderer out there loose."

Emily made her feelings known, and she agreed with Bret. "You're risking too much, Bart. Let the marshals in New Orleans handle it."

"And what if they don't? How long do I keep looking over my shoulder to see who's following me?"

"Until the deed of transfer is recorded. Let it go, Bart. Let the law handle it. I don't want to bury my only brother."

Bart shook his head 'no' It was personal, from the first moment the fire was set. "No, Bret, I can't. This man tried to kill me – twice – and I won't have any peace until he's in jail."

'_And I won't have any peace until he's dead,'_ thought Bret, but what he said was "It's too big a risk. I won't go along with it."

"Then I'll put myself out there alone and take my chances." It wasn't an easy decision, but it was the only one Bart felt he could make. He got up off the sofa and headed slowly for his room. "Breakfast. I'm goin' to breakfast in the mornin'. I'd prefer company. Do what you need to do."

Bret watched him go. He knew Bart was right; they couldn't let a killer go free to do more harm, maybe to Jody or someone in Montana. But he didn't have to like the chance they were taking.

Emily felt the need to show her support of whatever decision was made. Her loyalty was one thing, her sympathies another. "I think he's wrong, Bret, but I surely understand him. Somebody's tried to kill him twice and almost succeeded. He needs to know who it is." She addressed Bret directly as she made her final remark. "You would, too, if it was you they were after."

He'd considered that but ignored it; she was probably right. "Damn it, Emily, I just want to keep him alive."

"I know you do, Bret. He knows it, too. But you have to help him."

A sigh of resignation, followed ultimately by "I know. And I know what he'd do if it was the other way round. But I don't have to like it." Once the decision was made the only thing to do was go to bed and wait for morning. Whether he wanted to or not.


	24. Chapter 24 Pin the Tail on the Killer

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 24 – Pin the Tail on the Killer

Morning came before anyone was ready for it. Bart slept restlessly, knowing that he was setting himself up to be used as bait. Bret slept intermittently, in between bouts of worrying about using his brother that way. And Emily slept the least of all, knowing what the two men that had become her friends were about to do.

Bart took his time getting dressed, being sure the derringer was loaded before settling it into the shoulder holster. It was the first time he'd worn the gun since he shot Jerome Lewis and it felt surreal but oddly comforting to be wearing it. The same held true for his Peacemaker; as he secured the leg tie he felt a cold chill; something ominous was waiting out there for him.

Bret had no such forebodings; he simply tucked the derringer in his vest pocket and strapped on his gun belt. He saw no reason to give the situation any further thought; whatever was going to happen was out of their hands.

Emily was a nervous wreck, knowing there was nothing she could do to help. She went to get coffee before the men left; her stomach was in too much turmoil for anything else. She came back just as they were about to exit the stateroom. She stood on tiptoes and kissed Bret on the cheek, then repeated the act with Bart. Her eyes darted from one to the other; _'Please God keep them safe'_ was repeating on an endless loop in her mind. Out loud all she could manage was "Be careful" and then sat down to wait. The two men walked out the stateroom door and closed it behind them.

XXXXXXXX

It had to be today. He knew that and had made his plans carefully; somehow Maverick had cheated a well planned death twice and that couldn't happen on this third attempt. He had a job to do and he was going to do it. Marcus Hook was depending on him.

XXXXXXXX

They walked slowly; slower than normal to the dining salon. Every sound, every person, was scrutinized for anything out of the ordinary. It's hard to look when you don't know what to look for.

They sat so that Bart's back was up against a wall. Small comfort but better than none at all. He ordered coffee and toast; his stomach wouldn't handle much more. Bret had his usual bacon and eggs, but ate half as much as normal. He kept a close watch on everyone in the salon; neither Atwater or Samuels was visible. Finally Bart broke the silence that sat between them like an unscalable mountain. "We're not making this easy enough."

Bret tried humor, clumsily. "I could just shoot you and get it over with."

"Won't be a bullet," his brother replied. His mind tasted the imaginary blood that would come from a slit throat. "Too much noise. Quick and simple. A knife, most likely. In the belly, like Elliott Stander tried. Hope I'm wrong." Bart didn't relish the thought of another knife wound. He didn't relish the thought of any more pain – he'd had enough for one lifetime. But this killer, whoever it was, had a job to do. And if he did it properly this time there would be more pain – then death.

"Probably wastin' time here," Bart added as an afterthought. "We need to be someplace crowded, where it's easier to slip in and out without being noticed. Let's go back down to the second deck."

"Are you tryin' to make it easy for him?" Bret asked, even though he knew exactly why Bart had suggested the second deck. When something unpleasant or dangerous had to be done, do it as quickly as possible and get it over with. Bart was attempting to force the killer's hand.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," came the answer. "Have you got a better idea?"

"No. I wish we didn't have to do this at all. Let's go have a smoke."

"On the second deck?"

Bret nodded. "It's your show. On the second deck."

Bart took one last sip of coffee and set his cup down as he rose from the table. "Let's go, Pappy."

As they left the salon Bart could feel it again – that same feeling he'd had during the walk with Emily – they were being watched. "Bret?"

"Yeah – I know. But I don't know where."

Bart turned back to his brother and slapped him on the shoulder. "Why don't you let me go down there alone for a minute?"

"No."

"Maybe we could get this over with."

'That's just what I'm afraid of."

They walked downstairs and out onto the deck. The day was cool and crisp; a chilly breeze blew across the top deck but was almost non-existent down on the second. There weren't as many people out here today, and Bret stopped at the railing to light a cigar. "That's just what I did," Bart remarked after seeing Bret lower his head to avoid the breeze.

"Where were you exactly?" Bret queried.

"Up here a ways," came the matter-of-fact reply. "By the gate."

"And you were standing how?"

Bart walked to the exact spot he'd been in when he was pushed and stood there, watching his brother carefully. "Standing which way?" came the next question.

He turned and faced the gate, then pulled out a cigar of his own and put his head down to light it. "Just like this," he offered in explanation.

Bret followed him up the railing and stepped behind him. "And the hands grabbed you where?"

"Upper arm, just below my shoulders."

"Show me."

Bart moved away from the gate and positioned Bret behind it, when he was standing just right Bart grabbed his arms. "Just like that, only I was pushed."

Bret moved away from the deck gate, which now had a lock on it. "Stand there again," Bret directed. Bart moved back into position.

"And the hands were here?" Bret had a hand on both of Bart's arms.

"Yeah," came the reply. "What are you thinking?"

Bret was silent for another minute, studying the scene and the angles. "Whoever it was came out of that stairwell," and he pointed to the stairs from the lower deck. "That's the only way you wouldn't have heard 'em and the angle would be right." He walked over to the stairs and started to follow them down. Then the realization that his brother hadn't moved set in and he waved Bart over. "Let's go see what we can find."

The bottom of the staircase was dark, even in the light of day. A long, narrow hallway led to the covered freight area, and then on down the length of the ship to the spot where Zeke Crawford had been found. At the end of the hallway there was something laying on the ground that everyone had missed when they were cleaning up. The brothers walked down the hallway and Bret stooped to pick it up. A small pin, the kind that all of the Bayou Belle employees wore to identify them as crew members. It could have belonged to any one of dozens of employees. But each employee was only issued one pin – that meant someone on board ship was missing theirs. Bret pocketed the pin just as someone else came down the staircase. It was Captain Sampson.

He groaned when he caught site of the two of them. "Dare I ask?" he wondered out loud.

"Captain." Bret tipped his hat. "Just went for a stroll and got lost."

"Somehow I doubt that," Sampson answered. "Mr. Maverick, feeling better today?" His question was directed at Bart.

"Beginning to," came the curt reply.

"Does this hallway lead anywhere besides the freight storage?" Bret asked innocently.

"If you follow the storage area all the way down there's a staircase that leads directly to the galley," the captain explained. "The original design of the ship had meat storage down here, but when it was about halfway completed it was decided this was too far away from the actual preparation area and the storage was moved. The stairwell had already been built so they just left it."

"Aha, thanks, Captain," Bret replied. 'Bart, I think we need to go back the way we came."

Both men turned around and walked back up the hallway to the staircase and back to the second deck. Once they were back in the fresh air Bret found a pair of deck chairs and sat down. Bart took the other and re-lit his cigar. "Didn't you say Frank Atwater works in the galley?"

"I did."

"Well? Is it too obvious?"

Bret was pensive when answering. "Maybe. Maybe not. Let's go see if Mr. Atwater has his pin."


	25. Chapter 25 I Am Woman

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 25 – I Am Woman

"Mes bons amis! You have returned for lunch, no?" Chef Pierre was happy to see the Maverick brothers. The young one could use some fattening up; there wasn't enough meat on his bones to feed a starving flea, but the older one! Magnifique Connaisseur! A man of superb taste! "What délicatesse can I prepare for you today?"

Bret shook his head. He hated to disappoint Chef Pierre but now was no time to be thinking about lunch. "We've come for information, Chef Pierre, not food."

The Chef's face fell. He loved nothing more than to prepare food for a man who truly enjoyed eating. "Vous me plaie. What then do you need?"

Bret approached the subject cautiously. "How is your new cook working out?"

Chef Pierre thought for a moment. He wanted to make sure he said it right. "He is a good man, no? But he will never be a good chef. He simply cooks the food; he does not make love to it, like a beautiful woman. Adéquat, at best. For this job, he is fine."

Bret pointed at the chef's 'Bayou Belle' pin. "I see you wear your pin. Does Frank wear his?"

A shake of the very French head. "No. He says someone stole it. Why do you steal a pin?"

Bart laughed at that. "Good question, Chef Pierre."

St. Henri smiled at the compliment. The young one didn't say much, so one tended to listen when he did speak. "This is all you need to know?"

"Oui. Merci beaucoup, Chef Pierre. Bart? Let's go."

The brothers walked in silence back to their stateroom, where Emily waited anxiously for them. Neither was quite sure what to do next. Every sign they'd received pointed to Frank Atwater as the killer – and yet, at least in Bret's mind, since he was the only one who'd actually met the man, something just wasn't right. He wanted time to think this through – time without Bart exposed like this, out in the open hallways of the ship, tempting, tasty bait for the predator committing the murders.

Bart needed time to formulate a plan. One that didn't involve him getting killed. Or hurt again, in any substantial way. He followed Bret willingly, his mind working overtime, looking for a solution to the problem before him. No lawman would arrest someone on the basis of a missing pin.

Both were deep in thought and didn't pay any attention to the young woman standing at the end of the hallway that turned left, away from their room. They failed to notice her walking towards them, and actually following them for a few feet until she caught up to them and it was too late. Bart realized she was right behind him when he unexpectedly felt something hard pressed into his spine – it took him a moment to understand that it was the muzzle of a gun. And then a very soft and quiet male voice said something that he never expected to hear from the 'young woman', "Hold still, Maverick, or I'll shoot you where you stand."

Bret suddenly became aware that Bart had stopped walking and turned around to see what the problem was. His brother was standing dead still in the middle of the hallway with his hands hanging at his sides. What the - ?

"Bart?"

Bart's face never changed expression but Bret saw something flash in his eyes. From behind his brother came a man's voice, "If you make a move he gets it right now."

Bret stood perfectly still. Who was this? The young woman in the hall? How could they have missed it? They'd been outsmarted by a very astute man who knew they wouldn't notice a woman. Bret tried to see the man's face but he used Bart as a barricade against Bret's line-of-sight and remained well hidden behind him and a ladies bonnet. "Turn around and walk down that hall to the right – and keep your eyes straight ahead, both of you. If either one does something I don't like then it's good-bye to the Maverick brothers. Now go."

Bret did as he was told, and Bart followed suit. Before they reached the end of the short hall Bret said one word. "Bart?"

"Yeah, Bret?"

"Gun?"

"Yeah, Bret."

"Both of you shut up."

Bret walked a few more steps and stopped. He was at the end of the hall and there were only two choices – a stairwell or an open door. "Which way?"

"Inside," the voice told Bret. "And keep your back turned."

The gambler knew what was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. He'd only taken two steps into the room when he heard the 'crack' of the gun against the back of his skull and felt the pain radiate down the length of his body. Then nothing but blackness as he fell forward.

Bart felt the gun muzzle poke harder into his back. "You, up against the wall. Keep your eyes straight ahead. If you turn around your brother's a dead man."

The voice kept the gun trained on Bart but bent down to remove Bret's gun from its holster. In just a minute the muzzle was once again shoved into Bart's back as the voice closed the door to the room Bret was lying in, face down on the floor and unconscious. Bart heard the sound of a key turning and knew Bret had been locked in the room. "Alright, Maverick, down the stairs." Bart did as he was told.

They went down to the second deck, then continued down the staircase to the bottom deck of the riverboat. "Straight ahead" the voice ordered, and Bart continued the length of the ship until he reached a closed door. "Inside," the voice commanded, and he opened the door and entered. The room was empty, save for a single chair and a rope. "Sit down and put your hands behind you," the voice instructed. He did as he was told and quickly his hands were tied and a bandana of some sort was wrapped around his eyes, blindfolding him and keeping him completely in the dark. "What, no gag?" he asked, expecting one at any moment.

"Nope," the voice answered. "Yell all you want, nobody'll ever hear you down here." They must have been at the stern of the ship; you could hardly hear anything above the noise of the paddlewheel turning.

Completely at the voice's mercy, Bart tried to get information, anything he could use against the unjust advantage. "Who are you?" he asked first. There was no answer. "What do you want from me?"

There was a small laugh. "It's very simple," the voice answered. "I want you to die."


	26. Chapter 26 Delusions of Grandeur

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 26 – Delusions of Grandeur

Pain. That ever-present, dull, aching pain. How many times had he been hit on the head? And how many more would he have to endure? Past and future had no meaning. All that mattered was here and now. The realization hit him harder than the gun butt had. **HERE **was a dark, locked room somewhere on the riverboat. **NOW **meant he was alone; right this second there was no now.

'_Get up, Bret, get up and get out of here,'_ was the single, solitary thought that was predominant in his mind. He reached up and felt the back of his head. Ouch. Sticky. Blood. OUCH. Touching it only made it hurt more. Then he remembered something besides the pain. Bart was gone. He got up in a hurry, despite the throbbing in his head. And he remembered. The woman. The gun. The command to walk. Then stop. Then pain. He turned around, too fast, and his head and everything around him spun in a dizzying, twisting spiral until he fell against the wall, too disoriented to remain on his feet. He slid to the ground and tried to think clearly. .Bart' .

Alright, if he couldn't stand up he'd crawl. And that's what he did, to the door on his hands and knees and tried to open it. Locked. Of course. He sighed and his head hurt. Nothing in his life was easy.

Nothing in his life would ever be easy again if he didn't find his brother. Alive. Maybe if he sat still for a minute. Maybe if he closed his eyes. Maybe if he lost the fight to stay conscious . . . . . .

XXXXXXXX

Where was he? Impossible to tell, with this blindfold on. The sound of the paddlewheel constantly turning drowned out everything, including the thinking his brain was trying to accomplish. Was Bret alright? Had the voice left him here to go back and kill his brother? Or did it have a different plan, perhaps another victim now that she was alone and unprotected. Emily? No, she was safe, he reasoned, she didn't have a horse in this race. That was clear, but nothing else was.

He still didn't know who was going to kill him. Why was this happening? This was supposed to be a pleasure cruise, a nice leisurely trip down the Mississippi, a time to rest and recuperate and have a little fun with his brother. Instead it had turned into a death trap, not only for him but all the murder victims.

He tried to work the knot in the rope but it was a different kind of knot and wouldn't budge. How long did he have before the voice came back and put an end to all this? How long did Bret have? He had to get loose. No one would miss them; no one would come looking for them. Maybe Emily. Would she ignore their warnings about leaving the stateroom? Would she turn to someone else for help in finding them? Who, Captain Sampson? He was sure Sampson would be relieved to be rid of them once and for all.

Just keep working on the rope. And praying. To somebody besides Lady Luck, because she wasn't listening right now.

XXXXXXXX

Emily was beside herself. She'd been waiting all morning, and there was no word from either of them. Where were they? She thought she'd heard something earlier but neither of them had returned and she'd gone beyond mere worry a long time ago. Maybe she should look for them. Where? How? She considered it for a while and reasoned that she wouldn't know where to start. But she couldn't just continue to sit here and wait, could she?

Finally she could stand it no longer and went to the door. It took all the nerve she had just to open it and peer out into the hallway. Nothing. Wait, what was that on the polished wooden floor just a few feet from the doorway? She hurried out into the hall and bent down to retrieve something where it had fallen – or been dropped. It was a Bayou Belle pin, the same kind that the riverboat crew wore as identification. Was this a sign? Had Bret and Bart been this close to the room and sanctuary? Or had some unsuspecting crew member accidentally lost it? Maybe it belonged to whoever she'd heard earlier. Or maybe it was a clue. She had to try and find them; the feeling of dread that she'd had ever since they left this morning had only increased with each passing hour.

With a new-found resolve she closed the stateroom door behind her and set off down the hallway, to the right. She had no idea what she might find, but she had to look.

XXXXXXXX

The key to looking normal was to act normal. Do nothing different, say nothing different, be nothing different. So, after locking both Maverick brothers in separate rooms with no way to escape he went to work. His regular job, at his regular time, just as if it was a regular day. Instead of the day that he made Marcus Hook a happy man.

When the day was done, and his shift was over, he'd go back and finish the job he'd only had time to start this morning. One dead Maverick, two dead Mavericks, what did it matter? No one would miss either one of them. Two less low-life card sharks to be dealt with. And he would be the savior. The one man in the world who'd helped Marcus Hook assume proprietary ownership of an entire town, Silver Creek, Montana.

He would be revered, looked up to. Treated as if he mattered. Respected and admired. Important for the first time in his life. He smiled at the thought. Then he heard something. His name. Being called by the man he worked for. One last time, to answer when beckoned. He sighed. It would all be over soon.


	27. Killing in the Name of Love

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 27 – Killing In the Name of Love

Very, very slowly he opened his eyes. He was still there, locked in the dark little room, crumpled on the floor where he'd collapsed hours ago. Or was it hours ago? He had no concept of how much time had passed; he remembered being hit in the back of the head and his first attempt at consciousness, but beyond that everything was blank. No, not everything. He remembered his brother was missing.

At least he knew better than to reach for his head again. It didn't matter what hurt anymore, he had to get up and get out of here. This time he rose slowly, trying to keep his head from spinning out of control like the last time, and managed to get to his feet. The same wall he'd slid down before was there to help hold him up now and he used it to his advantage. He tried the door again – still locked. He hadn't imagined that. He looked around carefully and saw nothing but four walls – whoever the voice belonged to, he'd planned well. There was nothing in the empty room to help him escape.

He stood there for a few minutes; leaning heavily on the wall. The room was still spinning, although not as badly as it was during the earlier attempt at standing. Where was Emily? Had she tried looking for him? Had she even opened the stateroom door after Bret and Bart's warnings about staying in the room? If she had, did she find the pin he'd dropped in the hall, hoping it would alert her to the fact that they'd been there?

He heard something – correction, he heard someone. They were talking and laughing, coming back from or going to somewhere. They were close – this end of the corridor had one or two staterooms in it. He did his level best to pound on the door and yell "Hey! I'm locked in here! Get me out!" as loud as his head would let him. All he got for his effort was dead silence and a thundering pain that felt like it had split his skull in two.

He stood propped up against the wall for another ten or fifteen minutes and then there was the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. Was it the disembodied voice, come back to take care of him? He tried to brace himself to confront whatever opened the door; but when it actually happened and the door swung wide the only thing he could do was collapse into Emily's arms and knock both of them to the ground.

XXXXXXXX

After her unsuccessful attempt to find anything that might indicate where the Mavericks were, Emily decided to go to the only source she could think of that could help her – Captain Sampson. She'd just arrived at his office when he came charging out and ran right into her, practically knocking her to the ground.

"Miss Mayhew, I'm so sorry – I'm on my way to investigate suspicious noises and I just wasn't paying attention. Are you alright?" he asked as he helped her to steady herself. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

"I was coming to find you, Captain," she answered. "Have you seen Bret or Bart Maverick today?"

The last people on earth he wanted to see. "No, I'm afraid not. If you'll excuse me, I really must go."

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Suspicious noises to investigate on the upper deck."

"In the corridor the Mavericks are in?"

"No," the captain answered, "the one adjacent to it. Why do you ask?"

Emily wondered what 'suspicious noises' meant. "Because they left hours ago to try and trap the killer and neither one of them has come back."

"They did WHAT?"

"Please, captain, don't shout. They were determined to find the person, since he'd already made two attempts on Bart's life. I have the terrible feeling that this morning he may have made number three."

"And what am I supposed to do, Miss Mayhew?" Captain Sampson was doing everything he could to avoid tearing out what little hair he had left on his head.

"What were your suspicious noises, Captain?"

Sampson shook his head. "Why am I telling you this? The Fitzgerald's were returning from lunch and they heard what sounded like a man's voice yelling at the end of their hall."

Emily immediately reasoned that it was one of her missing friends. "Let's go find out about your mysterious noises, Captain."

They hurried to the hallway the Fitzgerald's had complained about and paused at the near end, listening. Not a sound other than the paddlewheel turning and children's laughter drifting up from the second deck. Emily and Captain Sampson walked down the corridor but heard nothing out of the ordinary. They reached the end and were about to take the stairwell down when Sampson remembered something. He walked back to the very last door, a supply closet, and found it locked. _'That's strange, these are_ _supposed to be unlocked,'_ he thought to himself as he took out his keys and opened the door. Bret Maverick fell out into Emily Mayhew's arms and the two of them collapsed on the ground at his feet.

"Bret! My God, Bret!"

Emily did her best to hold onto him as he fell into her outstretched arms but he was too much for her and they dropped to the floor together. Captain Sampson helped her get out from under the fallen gambler. She moved just far enough to cushion his head in her lap. She wasn't sure if he was conscious or not; his eyes blinked open and closed and open again, but he didn't respond to her at all. "Bret, its Emily. Can you hear me?"

A moan was the only response she got. Captain Sampson leaned over and touched her arm. "I'm going for Doctor Horton," he told her and hastily disappeared. She brushed the hair off of Bret's face and kissed his forehead. "Answer me, Bret. I know you hear me. Where's Bart? What happened?"

His voice was so quiet she could barely hear him. "Somebody . . . . .got him," he managed to get out. "Hit me . . . . . . won't stop . . . . .spinning. Got . . . to . . . .find him."

"How long were you in there?" She waited to see if he answered her.

"Don't know . . . . long time," he mumbled. Then he looked at her and focused for the first time. "Got to get up. Help me."

She let his head down gently and stood. Then she took hold of his hands and helped him sit up. For just a moment he looked like he was going to collapse back down to the floor and then he gripped her hands tightly, held on for dear life and stood up with her. He swayed for a moment and braced himself against the wall. His head was throbbing and the earth threatened to spin out from under him, but he fought off the nausea and put a hand on Emily's shoulder. "Stay with me," he implored her.

"I will," and she stood still while he tried to get his head to stop spinning.

"I have to find him." It was a statement; a plea; a prayer.

"We will. The captain went for the doctor. He'll be right back. We'll go after he takes a look at you."

He knew she was right. How could he find Bart if he couldn't even stand up? The argument raged in his head for mere seconds and then Maverick stubborn won over logic. "No. Now."

She grabbed his arms and stared at him. "You can't go now. You can't even stand up. You have to wait."

He pulled away from her and stood straight, determined, tall. "No. Can't wait. I'm goin' now." He took one step and staggered, then grabbed Emily's shoulder for the second time. He tried again and the next step was more successful. He was going, with or without her. She went with him, lest she find him dead at the bottom of the stairs. Which is just where he headed, shakily.

"No, Bret, you can't go down stairs. You'll fall and kill yourself."

"Have to go down," he told her without turning around. "Only way to go."

He was absolutely right; going down was the only choice, considering he'd been locked in a storage room at the end of the hall. He made his way carefully down the stairs, one step at a time, until he reached the bottom of the flight. Emily waited for him to stop but he kept going, on down the staircase to the very bottom deck. "Are you sure?" she asked him.

"Yep," his answer came quickly. This was the deck where he discovered the pin. Somewhere down here was a hiding place; perhaps another unused storage closet like the one upstairs. If Bart was still alive that's where he'd be. If he was still alive.

XXXXXXXX

His day was finally over and he could go about the business of making Marcus Hook's life just a little more pleasant. First to dispose of the brother – then he could turn his attention to the real target of the hunt – the one man who stood in the way of Hook's takeover of the town he'd set his sights on.

Who knew that he would get to be so good at killing? Never a man who exhibited much skill at anything, he took to murder as if it was his God-given calling. And these were to be his last two. Actually the brother was just a bonus, a lucky break he intended to take full advantage of. Not truly a necessity like his primary target.

He was eager to get it over with so he could begin to enjoy his reward. He climbed the stairs to the top deck and retraced his steps from this morning. He was all ready to expunge his first problem when he turned the corner and made his way down the hallway. That's why he was so disturbed to not only find the door to the storage room wide open but the room empty. His 'bonus' was gone; his secret had been discovered.

No time to waste. Got to get down to the lower deck and solve this problem once and for all, before anyone could interfere.


	28. Thou Shalt Not Kill

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 28 – Thou Shalt Not Kill

Captain Sampson and Doctor Horton followed the stairwell down to the bottom deck of the ship and found Emily and a very nauseous Bret Maverick about ten feet down the narrow hallway. She held onto his arm; he was bent over, with his hands on his knees, trying once again to fight the severe spinning that his head was intent on doing. The doctor persuaded Bret to stand straight and then looked in his eyes. Then he checked the back of his head and found what he was looking for – blood. He took a clean cloth from his bag and wiped the blood away, all the while talking endlessly.

"You've got to lie down and rest, son. That dizziness isn't going to go away unless you do. Why don't you come back with me and we'll get you into bed?"

Bret had experienced enough of these to know not to shake his head. "Can't, Doc. Got to find Bart."

"What good is it going to do to find him if you can't help him?"

Once again there was pleading in his eyes and his voice. Pleading for understanding and help. "Got to, Doc. Can't lose him."

Doc Horton didn't agree with the sentiment, but he understood. Against his better judgement he dug into his bag for smelling salts and gave Bret a whiff. Immediately his head was clearer; he stood up straight and looked at Emily. "Go back to the stateroom and wait for us." He deliberately used the word 'us', willing his brother to still be alive.

He wasn't the only one that could be stubborn when the situation required it. "No. I'm going with you." She turned to Captain Sampson. "You need to come, too. Bret isn't armed."

The captain looked at her and then at Maverick. Despite the amount of trouble the brothers had caused him he didn't want to see them any more beat up than they already were. "Alright, but I'm the one with the gun, so we do as I say."

Bret rubbed the pocket of his vest. The derringer was still there. "You're the captain."

Doc Horton packed up his bag. "I'm going back upstairs. You may need me later." He turned to Bret. "Good luck, son. I hope you find him." He walked back up the hall and climbed the stairs.

"Ready, Mr. Maverick?"

"Ready, Captain Sampson. Emily, stay behind us."

They started back down the long hallway, at least one of them ready to do battle in hell if necessary.

XXXXXXXX

He hurried down to the bottom deck as soon as he realized his plan had been jeopardized. The brother hadn't seen his face; he'd made sure of that. So he could still make this all work out the way it was supposed to. All he had to do was finish the job he'd started that morning. Maybe not the way he'd originally planned, but dead was dead, however it happened.

It took him just a few minutes to wind his way back to the paddlewheel room, as he liked to call it. There were only a very few people that knew this space even existed. He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. Good, this one hadn't managed to slip out.

Bart sat up straight in the chair. No matter how much he'd tried to untie the knots in the rope around his hands he'd been unable to. When he heard the door open he could only assume the voice had returned to finish what he thought surely it was going to do earlier. It seemed like a good idea to try and stall the inevitable so he was quick to remark, "Back so soon?"

"Aren't you funny?" came the reply.

Another quip flashed through his mind, made by an equally disturbed man, and he shuddered. "Is it time to go?"

This was a smart one, alright. Ridding the world of his kind would be a pleasure. "Where do you think we're going?"

Bart chuckled. Maybe this 'voice' would play for a while. "Where I'm going is debatable. Where you're going is hell."

That elicited a strange laugh. "Ha. For eliminating your kind from this earth? I hardly think so."

Good. So far the voice was willing to play along. Keep him talking and stalling for time. Time for somebody to find him? "Didn't you read the Bible? Thou shalt not kill."

"Eliminating scum is not killing." The voice was moving, circling Bart as it answered him.

"It is when the scum happens to be a person." He turned his head in the direction the voice was emanating from. "You can't just kill people you don't like."

That strange laugh again. "It has nothing to do with like or dislike. Marcus needs this done."

At last, a mention of Marcus Hook. "I don't even know Marcus Hook. Why is it so important to him that I be eliminated?"

The voice moved again. He was definitely circling Bart. "Oh, it's not you, Maverick. It's that saloon. It has to go and you're simply a means to an end."

"So if I wouldn't have signed the deed of transfer – "

"There wouldn't be any need to eliminate you. That's right. But you did."

Bart heard a most unwelcome sound, the hammer being pulled back on a gun. Think fast. "We can pretend I didn't."

"No," the voice laughed, "we can't. You signed it, you have to die before it's executed to invalidate it."

"Why does the saloon have to go?"

"What does it matter to you? You're going to be very dead." The voice sighed, as if debating something with himself. "Alright, you want to know. I guess I can share that before – "

Bart interrupted. "Why does the saloon have to be closed?"

"Because it's no good," the voice spat out. "It ruins people's lives. It destroys husbands and fathers and leaves women and children to fend for themselves."

"Like the woman in the picture my brother found? She wasn't Zeke Crawford's mother, was she?" Bart found a nerve and he was going to push on it and see what happened.

He was answered very quietly, "No."

He was a gambler, time to play his hunch. "She was Marcus Hook's mother, wasn't she?"

This time there was no answer, and he pressed on. "And yours too, Ed."

Very, very quietly and small, "Yes."

"And the saloons ruined your lives and killed her."

The voice had stopped moving. "Yes."

There was a sound he didn't expect and he strained to understand what it was. Then, the 'whoosh' of a door opening, and he knew – it had been a key unlocking the door. Sampson ordered "Drop it, Ed." That was quickly followed by a scuffle and a gunshot. Bodies smashed into Bart and the chair went flying with him still in it, across the room and crashing to the floor. His shoulder hit first, the left shoulder with the bullet wound and he could feel the stitches tear open; then his head hit the floor as a body fell over him. He heard Bret yell "NO!" and heard another shot, this time from a derringer. Then his brother was there, righting the chair and pulling off the blindfold; finally untying his hands and setting him free. Bret pulled him to his feet. That's when Bart saw that Bret had been nicked by the first shot fired; a small trickle of blood wound its way down his forehead.

Bart's arm was on fire again, but he ignored it to glance around the room and finally see the 'voice' that had held him hostage. Ed Samuels, Frank Hook, lay slumped on the floor, dead where Bret's bullet had caught him; so close to the chest that it left powder burns on his shirt. Captain Sampson was there, too, with a gun in his hand, and Emily Mayhew stood outside in the hall. He turned back to Bret and said, "You could have gotten here a few minutes sooner," then grabbed his brother by the back of the neck and pulled him into an embrace. Bret whispered in his ear, "Sounded better the first time you said it."

"What happened?" came from Bart, who had only heard the altercation.

Bret saw the blood on Bart's shirt. "Let's get you back upstairs and Doc Horton can take care of that."

"You too," Bart answered, as he pointed to Bret's forehead. They both turned to Captain Sampson.

"Go on, I'll get a full statement later. I trust you won't go looking for any more killers tonight." This was one time Sampson was glad to be wrong about people.

Emily waited until the brothers stepped out of the room and then hugged each one in turn. "Thanks, Em," Bret told her. "I think we're even now," Bart added.

"Come on, both of you. Doc Horton's waiting for survivors."


	29. House of the Rising Sun

Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 29 – House of the Rising Sun

"Steady, son, I know this hurts." Doctor Horton was re-stitching Bart's wounded arm, and this time it took four stitches instead of two. Bart tried not to flinch but he hated stitches worse than almost anything in the world, and to have endured them twice in the same spot didn't seem quite fair.

'Hey, just be grateful you didn't get both sides of your head bashed in on the same day," Bret volunteered. He was fortunate; the gun butt in the back of the skull hadn't torn a big hole, even though it bled quite a bit, and the bullet in front had merely creased his scalp. Emily was wiping the front wound off with a damp rag; Doc had already looked at the scalp wound and declared it 'non-life-threatening.'

"How's your head?" Bret was concerned about his brother's hitting his head on the floor of the storage room; ever since Montana he'd worried about the effect head injuries might have.

"It hurts, what do ya think?" Bart answered. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

"Not too much," Bret offered in response. "Sampson's the one that remembered the paddlewheel storage room. Good thing we had him along to unlock it. How'd you keep Samuels from finishing you off?"

Bart looked away as Doc Horton took the last stitch in his arm. "Kept him thinkin' about his mother. That picture you found in Crawford's belongings? It wasn't his – it was a picture of Mrs. Hook and her two boys. Ed must've planted it to make Zeke look guilty."

"How'd you figure that out?"

"Just kept talkin'."

"Huh," Bret commented. "Usually when you start talkin' people WANT to shoot you."

"Bret, behave," Emily counseled him.

"Well, it's true," he answered.

"Let him be, Emily. He's the big hero now, for shooting Frank Hook."

"I had to," Bret responded soberly. "He had the gun pointed at you, Bart. Even at the last minute he was still gonna shoot ya."

Bart looked across the room at Bret and mouthed "Thanks."

"Ok, son you're all done – again," Doc Horton had finished bandaging Bart's arm. "Try not to pull these loose, okay?"

"Sounds good to me, Doc," was the reply. "Thanks for everything."

Bret stood and shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks again, Doc. You were a real life saver."

"No, my boy, I believe that honor belongs to the two of you. But I appreciate the sentiment anyway."

Emily saw him to the door of the stateroom. "Good luck with those two, Emily. You've got your hands full."

"Thanks, Doctor." She closed the door behind him and turned to the two wounded men. "What now, gentlemen?"

"How about supper?" Bret offered.

Bart groaned. "Always thinking about food."

"Hey, I haven't eaten since this morning," Bret protested.

"Neither have I," Bart responded. "Even I'm hungry. Let's go."

XXXXXXXX

Once again the Maverick brothers sat in Captain Sampson's office, explaining everything for the third time, as usual. "And you're sure that Ed, er, Frank was responsible for all of the murders and just tried to pin them on Zeke?"

Bret and Bart looked at each other and Bart shook his head. The captain was not a stupid man, why couldn't he get anything straight the first time? "No, Captain, he tried to pin them on me so that you'd turn me over to the marshals in Memphis and I wouldn't – oh, what's the use?"

Bret intervened. Bart's inability to deal with Sampson might have been what started the animosity in the first place. "Yes, Captain, that's right. That's exactly right."

Bart started to say something and Bret put a hand on his arm. "That's right, isn't it Brother Bart?"

Bart nodded. "Yes, Brother Bret, that's right."

XXXXXXXX

For the final day of the trip, Bret and Bart found three deck chairs on the upper deck of the riverboat and lay in the sun, with Emily sitting between the two of them, reading. It was a quiet peaceful day, filled with rest, relaxation, and the finest meals that Chef Pierre could prepare for them. Both brothers went to play poker after supper and Bart found that he could manage one handed better than he expected. Emily spent the night in the stateroom with her choice of beds, since neither gambler returned before dawn. Both came away winners, pleased to have finally gotten a chance to play at the same time. As the sun rose in the sky New Orleans beckoned off the bow and the brothers sat again on the deck, drinking coffee and watching the sky turn from black to dark blue to pink and then wispy blue.

"Peaceful and restful, huh?" Bret asked his brother, sitting quietly beside him.

"Who said that?" Bart responded. "What would we do with peaceful and restful, anyway?"

"I don't know, Brother Bart. I guess someday we'll have to find out."


End file.
